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An  Unsocial  Socialist 


BRENTANO'S 

Reprints  of  Standard  Fiction 

Cashel  Byron  s  Profession 

By  G.  Bernard  Shaw 

i2mo,  cloth. 

$1.25 

An  Unsocial  Socialist 

By  G.  Bernard  Shaw 

1 2mo,  cloth. 

$1.25 

A  Mummer  s  Wife 

By  George  Moore 

izmo,  cloth. 

$\.^o 

The  Sun-Maid 

By  Miss  Grant 

izmo,  cloth. 

$1.50 

An  Unsocial  Socialist 


By 
G.  BERNARD  SHAW 

AUTHOR  OF  "  CASHEL  BYRON's  PROFESSION,"  ETC.,  ETC 


New  York 

BRENTANO'S 

1904 


Press  of  J.  J.  LSttle  &  Co. 
Astor  Place,  New  York 


HKMRY  M\-'«^^^  ^  »  crMSl*# 


9 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 


D13729 


«         t    t  a  3  o     ■>  '3«J 


9 

An   Unsocial  Socialist 


CHAPTER   I 

In  the  dusk  of  an  October  evening,  a  sensible  look- 
ing woman  of  forty  came  out  through  an  oaken  door 
to  a  broad  landing  on  the  first  floor  of  an  old  English 
country-house.  A  braid  of  her  hair  had  fallen  for- 
ward as  if  she  had  been  stooping  over  book  or  pen; 
and  she  stood  for  a  moment  to  smooth  it,  and  to  gaze 
contemplatively — not  in  the  least  sentimentally — 
through  the  tall,  narrow  window.  The  sun  was  set- 
ting, but  its  glories  were  at  the  other  side  of  the  house; 
for  this  window  looked  eastward,  where  the  landscape 
of  sheepwalks  and  pasture  land  was  sobering  at  the 
approach  of  darkness. 

The  lady,  like  one  to  whom  silence  and  quiet  were 
luxuries,  lingered  on  the  landing  for  some  time.  Then 
she  turned  towards  another  door,  on  which  was  in- 
scribed, in  white  letters.  Class  Eoom  No.  6.  Arrested 
by  a  whispering  above,  she  paused  in  the  doorway,  and 
looked  up  the  stairs  along  a  broad  smooth  handrail 

1 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

tKat  swep'^  r(»iiiiil  jpt  an  unbroken  curve  at  each  land- 
in^,,  forming'  an  mcUned  plane  from  the  top  to  the 
b'ottbin  of  iHef  lioiise:  • ' 

A  young  voice,  apparently  mimicking  someone,  now 
came  from  above,  saying, 

"  We  will  take  the  Etudes  de  la  VelociU  next,  if  you 
please,  ladies." 

Immediately  a  girl  in  a  holland  dress  shot  down 
through  space;  whirled  round  the  curve  with  a  fear- 
less centrifugal  toss  of  her  ankle;  and  vanished  into 
the  darkness  beneath.  She  was  followed  by  a  stately 
girl  in  green,  intently  holding  her  breath  as  she  flew; 
and  also  by  a  large  young  woman  in  black,  with  her 
lower  lip  grasped  between  her  teeth,  and  her  fine 
brown  eyes  protruding  with  excitement.  Her  passage 
created  a  miniature  tempest  which  disarranged  anew 
the  hair  of  the  lady  on  the  landing,  who  waited  in 
breathless  alarm  until  two  light  shocks  and  a  thump 
announced  that  the  aerial  voyagers  had  landed  safely 
in  the  hall. 

"  Oh  law! "  exclaimed  the  voice  that  had  spoken 
before.     '^  Here's  Susan." 

"  It's  a  mercy  your  neck  ain't  broken,"  replied  some 
palpitating  female.  "  I'll  tell  of  you  this  time.  Miss 
Wylie;  indeed  I  will.  And  you,  too.  Miss  Carpenter: 
I  wonder  at  you  not  to  have  more  sense  at  your  age 
and  with  your  size!  Miss  Wilson  can't  help  hearing 
when  you  come  down  with  a  thump  like  that.  You 
shake  the  whole  house." 

"  Oh  bother!  "  said  Miss  Wylie.     "  The  Lady  Ab- 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

bess  takes  good  care  to  shut  out  all  the  noise  we  make. 

Let  us " 

"  Girls/'  said  the  lady  above,  calling  down  quietly, 
but  with  ominous  distinctness. 

Silence  and  utter  confusion  ensued.  Then  came 
a  reply,  in  a  tone  of  honeyed  sweetness,  from 
Miss  Wylie: 

"  Did  you  call  us,  dear  Miss  Wilson? '' 
"  Yes.  Come  up  here,  if  you  please,  all  three." 
There  was  some  hesitation  among  them,  each  offer- 
ing the  other  precedence.  At  last  they  went  up 
slowly,  in  the  order,  though  not  at  all  in  the  manner, 
of  their  flying  descent;  followed  Miss  Wilson  into  the 
class-room;  and  stood  in  a  row  before  her,  illumined 
through  three  western  windows  with  a  glow  of  ruddy 
orange  light.  Miss  Carpenter,  the  largest  of  the  three, 
was  red  and  confused.  Her  arms  hung  by  her  sides, 
her  fingers  twisting  the  folds  of  her  dress.  Miss  Ger- 
trude Lindsay,  in  pale  sea-green,  had  a  small  head, 
delicate  complexion,  and  pearly  teeth.  She  stood 
erect,  with  an  expression  of  cold  distaste  for  reproof 
of  any  sort.  The  holland  dress  of  the  third  offender 
had  changed  from  yellow  to  white  as  she  passed  from 
the  gray  eastern  twilight  on  the  staircase  into  the 
warm  western  glow  in  the  room.  Her  face  had  a 
bright  olive  tone,  and  seemed  to  have  a  golden  mica 
in  its  composition.  Her  eyes  and  hair  were  hazel-nut 
color;  and  her  teeth,  the  upper  row  of  which  she  dis- 
played freely,  were  like  fine  Portland  stone,  and  sloped 
outward  enough  to  have  spoilt  her  mouth,  had  they 

8 


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An  Unsocial  Socialist 

not  been  supported  by  a  rich  under  lip,  and  a  finely 
curved,  impudent  chin.  Her  half  cajoling,  half 
mocking  air,  and  her  ready  smile,  were  difficult  to 
confront  with  severity;  and  Miss  Wilson  knew  it;  for 
she  would  not  look  at  her  even  when  attracted  by  a 
convulsive  start  and  an  angry  side  glance  from  Miss 
Lindsay,  who  had  just  been  indented  between  the  ribs 
by  a  finger  tip. 

"  You  are  aware  that  you  have  broken  the  rules,'^ 
said  Miss  Wilson  quietly. 

"We  didn't  intend  to.  We  really  did  not,"  said 
the  girl  in  holland,  coaxingly. 

"  Pray  what  was  your  intention  then.  Miss  Wylie?  " 

Miss  Wylie  unexpectedly  treated  this  as  a  smart 
repartee  instead  of  a  rebuke.  She  sent  up  a  strange 
little  scream,  which  exploded  in  a  cascade  of  laughter. 

"Pray  be  silent,  Agatha,"  said  Miss  Wilson  severely. 
Agatha  looked  contrite.  Miss  Wilson  turned  hastily 
to  the  eldest  of  the  three,  and  continued: 

"  I  am  especially  surprised  at  you,  Miss  Carpenter. 
Since  you  have  no  desire  to  keep  faith  with  me  by 
upholding  the  rules,  of  which  you  are  quite  old  enough 
to  understand  the  necessity,  I  shall  not  trouble  you 
with  reproaches,  or  appeals  to  which  I  am  now  con- 
vinced that  you  would  not  respond  "  (here  Miss  Car- 
penter, with  an  inarticulate  protest,  burst  into  tears); 
"but  you  should  at  least  think  of  the  danger  into 
which  your  juniors  are  led  by  your  childishness. 
J  How  should  you  feel  if  Agatha  had  broken  her 
neck?" 

4 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"  Oh!  "  exclaimed  Agatha,  putting  her  hand  quickly 
to  her  neck. 

"  I  didn'i  think  there  was  any  danger,"  said  Miss 
Carpenter,  struggling  with  her  tears.  "  Agatha  has 
done  it  so  oft — oh  dear!  you  have  torn  me."  Miss 
AVylie  had  pulled  at  her  schoolfellow's  skirt,  and 
pulled  too  hard. 

"  Miss  Wylie,"  said  Miss  Wilson,  flushing  slightly, 
"  I  must  ask  you  to  leave  the  room." 

"  Oh,  no,"  exclaimed  Agatha,  clasping  her  hands  in 
distress.  "  Please  don't,  dear  Miss  Wilson.  I  am  so 
sorry.     I  beg  your  pardon." 

"  Since  you  will  not  do  what  I  ask,  I  must  go  my- 
self," said  Miss  Wilson  sternly.  "  Come  with  me  to 
my  study,"  she  added  to  the  two  other  girls.  "  If  you 
attempt  to  follow,  Miss  Wylie,  I  shall  regard  it  as  an 
intrusion." 

"  But  I  will  go  away  if  you  wish  it.  I  didn't  mean 
to  diso " 

"  I  shall  not  trouble  you  now.     Come,  girls." 

The  three  went  out;  and  Miss  Wylie,  left  behind  in 
disgrace,  made  a  surpassing  grimace  at  Miss  Lindsay, 
who  glanced  back  at  her.  When  she  was  alone,  her 
vivacity  subsided.  She  went  slowly  to  the  window, 
and  gazed  disparagingly  at  the  landscape.  Once, 
when  a  sound  of  voices  above  reached  her,  her  eyes 
brightened,  and  her  ready  lip  moved;  but  the  next 
silent  moment  she  relapsed  into  moody  indifference, 
which  was  not  relieved  until  her  two  companions, 
looking  very  serious,  re-entered. 

6 


/ 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"  Well/'  she  said  gaily,  "  has  moral  force  been  ap« 
plied?     Are  you  going  to  the  Eecording  Angel?  " 

"  Hush,  Agatha/'  said  Miss  Carpenter.  "  You 
ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself." 

"  No,  but  you  ought,  you  goose.  A  nice  row  you 
have  got  me  into!  " 

"  It  was  your  own  fault.     You  tore  my  dress." 

"Yes,  when  you  were  blurting  out  that  I  some- 
times slide  down  the  banisters." 

"  Oh!  "  said  Miss  Carpenter  slowly,  as  if  this  reason 
had  not  occurred  to  her  before.  "  Was  that  why  you 
pulled  me?" 

"  Dear  me!      It  has  actually  dawned  upon  you. 
>/         You  are  a  most  awfully  silly  girl,  Jane.     What  did 
the  Lady  Abbess  say?  " 

Miss  Carpenter  again  gave  her  tears  way,  and  could 
not  reply. 

"  She  is  disgusted  with  us,  and  no  wonder,"  said 
Miss  Lindsay. 

"  She  said  it  was  all  your  fault,"  sobbed  Miss  Car- 
penter. 

"  Well,  never  mind,  dear,"  said  Agatha  soothingly, 
v^     "  Put  it  in  the  Eecording  Angel." 

"  I  won't  write  a  word  in  the  Eecording  Angel  un- 
less you  do  so  first,"  said  Miss  Lindsay  angrily.  "  You 
are  more  in  fault  than  we  are." 

"  Certainly,  my  dear,"  replied  Agatha.  "  A  whole 
page,  if  you  wish." 

"I  b-believe  you  liTce  writing  in  the  Eecording 
Angel/'  said  Miss  Carpenter  spitefully. 

6 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"  Yes,  Jane.     It  is  the  best  fun  the  place  affords." 

"  It  may  be  fun  to  you/'  said  Miss  Lindsay  sharply; 
"  but  it  is  not  very  creditable  to  me,  as  Miss  Wilson 
said  just  now,  to  take  a  prize  in  moral  science  and 
then  have  to  write  down  that  I  don't  know  how  to 
behave  myself.  Besides,  I  do  not  like  to  be  told  that 
I  am  ill-bred! " 

Agatha  laughed.  "  What  a  deep  old  thing  she  is! 
She  knows  all  our  weaknesses,  and  stabs  at  us  through 
them.  Catch  her  telling  me,  or  Jane  there,  that  we 
are  ill-bred! " 

"I  don't  understand  you,"  said  Miss  Lindsay, 
haughtily. 

"  Of  course  not.  That's  because  you  don't  know 
as  much  moral  science  as  I,  though  I  never  took  a 
prize  in  it." 

"You  never  took  a  prize  in  anything,"  said  Miss 
Carpenter. 

"  And  I  hope  I  never  shall,"  said  Agatha.  "  I 
would  as  soon  scramble  for  hot  pennies  in  the 
snow,  like  the  street  boys,  as  scramble  to  see  who 
can  answer  most  questions.  Dr.  Watts  is  enough 
moral  science  for  me.  Now  for  the  Recording 
Angel." 

She  went  to  a  shelf  and  took  down  a  heavy  quarto, 
bound  in  black  leather,  and  inscribed,  in  red  letters, 
My  Faults.  This  she  threw  irreverently  on  a  desk, 
and  tossed  its  pages  over  until  she  came  to  one  only 
partly  covered  with  manuscript  confessions. 

"  For  a  wonder/'  she  said,  "  here  are  two  entries 
7 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

that  are  not  mine.  Sarah  Gerram!  What  has  she 
been  confessing?  ^^ 

"  Don't  read  it/'  said  Miss  Lindsay  quicky.  "  You 
know  that  it  is  the  most  dishonorable  thing  any  of  ns 
can  do." 

"  Pooh!  Our  little  sins  are  not  worth  making  such 
a  fuss  about.  I  always  like  to  have  my  entries  read: 
it  makes  me  feel  like  an  author;  and  so  in  Christian 
duty  I  always  read  other  people's.  Listen  to  poor 
Sarah's  tale  of  guilt.  *  1st  October.  I  am  very  sorry 
that  I  slapped  Miss  Chambers  in  the  lavatory  this 
morning,  and  knocked  out  one  of  her  teeth.  This 
was  very  wicked;  but  it  was  coming  out  by  itself;  and 
she  has  forgiven  me  because  a  new  one  will  come  in  its 
place;  and  she  was  only  pretending  when  she  said  she 
swallowed  it.     Sarah  Gerram.'  " 

"  Little  fool!  "  said  Miss  Lindsay.  "  The  idea  of 
our  having  to  record  in  the  same  book  with  brats  like 
that! " 

"  Here  is  a  touching  revelation.  '  4th  October. 
Helen  Plantagenet  is  deeply  grieved  to  have  to  con- 
fess that  I  took  the  first  place  in  algebra  yesterday 
unfairly.     Miss  Lindsay  prompted  me;  and ' " 

"  Oh!  "  exclaimed  Miss  Lindsay,  reddening.  "  That 
is  how  she  thanks  me  for  prompting  her,  is  it?  How 
dare  she  confess  my  faults  in  the  Recording  Angel  ?  " 

"  Serves  you  right  for  prompting  her,"  said  Miss 
Carpenter.  "  She  was  always  a  double-faced  cat;  and 
you  ought  to  have  known  better." 

"  Oh,  I  assure  you  it  was  not  for  her  sake  that  I  did 
8 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

it,"  replied  Miss  Lindsa}^  "  It  was  to  prevent  that 
Jackson  girl  from  getting  first  place.  I  don't  like 
Helen  Plantagenet;  but  at  least  she  is  a  lady/ 

"  Stuff,  Gertrude,"  said  Agatha,  with  a  touch  of 
earnestness.  "  One  would  think,  to  hear  you  talk, 
that  your  grandmother  was  a  cook.  Don't  be  such  a 
snob." 

"Miss  Wylie,"  said  Gertrude,  becoming  scarlet: 
"you  are  very — oh!  oh!  Stop  Ag — oh!  I  will  tell 
Miss  W — oh! "  Agatha  had  inserted  a  steely  finger 
between  her  ribs,  and  was  tickling  her  unendur- 
ably. 

"  Sh-sh-sh,"  whispered  Miss  Carpenter  anxiously. 
"  The  door  is  open." 

"Am  I  Miss  Wylie?"  demanded  Agatha,  relent- 
lessly continuing  the  torture.  "Am  I  very — what- 
ever you  were  going  to  say?     Am  I ?  am  I ? 

am  I?  " 

"  No,  no,"  gasped  Gertrude,  shrinking  into  a  chair, 
almost  in  hysterics.  "  You  are  very  unkind,  Agatha. 
You  have  hurt  me." 

"You  deserve  it.  If  you  ever  get  sulky  with  me 
again,  or  call  me  Miss  Wylie,  I  will  kill  you.  I  will 
tickle  the  soles  of  your  feet  with  a  feather"  (Miss 
Lindsay  shuddered,  and  hid  her  feet  beneath  the 
chair)  "  until  your  hair  turns  white.  And  now,  if 
you  are  truly  repentant,  come  and  record." 

"  You  must  record  first.     It  was  all  your  fault." 

"  But  I  am  the  youngest,"  said  Agatha. 

"Well,  then,"  said  Gertrude,  afraid  to  press  the 
9 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

point,  but  determined  not  to  record  first,  "  let  Jane 
Carpenter  begin.     She  is  the  eldest." 

"  Oh,  of  course,"  said  Jane,  with  whimpering  irony. 
"  Let  Jane  do  all  the  nasty  things  first.  I  think  it's 
very  hard.  You  fancy  that  Jane  is  a  fool;  but  she 
isn't." 

"You  are  certainly  not  such  a  fool  as  you  look, 
Jane,"  said  Agatha  gravely.  "  But  I  will  record  first, 
if  you  like." 

"No,  you  shan't,"  cried  Jane,  snatching  the  pen 
from  her.  "  I  am  the  eldest;  and  I  won't  be  put  out 
of  my  place." 

She  dipped  the  pen  in  the  ink  resolutely,  and  pre- 
pared to  write.  Then  she  paused;  considered;  looked 
bewildered;  and  at  last  appealed  piteously  to  Agatha. 

"  What  shall  I  write?  "  she  said.  "  You  know  how 
to  write  things  down;  and  I  don't." 

"  First  put  the  date,"  said  Agatha. 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  Jane,  writing  it  quickly.  "  I 
forgot  that.     Well?" 

"  Now  write,  ^  I  am  very  sorry  that  Miss  Wilson  saw 
,y  me  when  I  slid  down  the  banisters  this  evening. 
Jane  Carpenter.' " 

"Is  that  all?" 

"  That's  all:  unless  you  wish  to  add  something  of 
your  own  composition." 

"I  hope  it's  all  right,"  said  Jane,  looking  sus- 
piciously at  Agatha.  "  However,  there  can't  be  any 
harm  in  it;  for  it's  the  simple  truth.  Anyhow,  if  you 
are  playing  one  of  your  jokes  on  me,  you  are  a  nasty 

10 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

mean  thing,  and  I  don't  care.  Now,  Gertrude,  it's 
your  turn.  Please  look  at  mine,  and  see  whether  the 
spelling  is  right.'' 

"  It  is  not  my  business  to  teach  you  to  spell,"  said 
Gertrude,  taking  the  pen.  And,  while  Jane  was  mur- 
muring at  her  churlishness,  she  wrote  in  a  bold 
hand: 

"  I  have  broken  the  rules  by  sliding  down  the  ban- 
isters to-day  with  Miss  Carpenter  and  Miss  Wylie. 
Miss  Wylie  went  first." 

"  You  wretch! "  exclaimed  Agatha,  reading  over 
her  shoulder.     "  And  your  father  is  an  admiral!  " 

"  I  think  it  is  only  fair,"  said  Miss  Lindsay,  quail- 
ing, but  assuming  the  tone  of  a  moralist.  "  It  is  per- 
fectly true." 

"  All  my  money  was  made  in  trade,"  said  Agatha; 
"  but  I  should  be  ashamed  to  save  myself  by  shifting 
blame  to  your  aristocratic  shoulders.  You  pitiful 
thing!     Here:  give  me  the  pen." 

"  I  will  strike  it  out  if  you  wish;  but  I  think " 

"  No:  it  shall  stay  there  to  witness  against  you. 
Now  see  how  I  confess  my  faults."  And  she  wrote, 
in  a  fine,  rapid  hand : 

"This  evening  Gertrude  Lindsay  and  Jane  Car- 
penter met  me  at  the  top  of  the  stairs,  and  said  they 
wanted  to  slide  down  the  banisters  and  would  do  so 
if  I  went  first.  I  told  them  that  it  was  against  the 
rules,  but  they  said  that  did  not  matter;  and  as  they 
are  older  than  I  am,  I  allowed  myself  to  be  persuaded, 
and  slid." 

11 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"What  do  you  think  of  that?''  said  Agatha,  dis- 
playing the  page. 

They  read  it,  and  protested  clamorously. 

^'  It  is  perfectly  true/'  said  Agatha,  solemnly. 

"  It's  beastly  mean,"  said  Jane  energetically.  "  The 
idea  of  your  finding  fault  with  Gertrude,  and  then 
going  and  being  twice  as  bad  yourself!  I  never  heard 
of  such  a  thing  in  my  life." 

" '  Thus  bad  begins;  but  worse  remains  behind/  as 
the  Standard  Elocutionist  says,"  said  Agatha,  adding 
another  sentence  to  her  confession. 

"  But  it  was  all  my  fault.  Also  I  was  rude  to  Miss 
Wilson,  and  refused  to  leave  the  room  when  she  bade 
me.  I  was  not  wilfully  wrong  except  in  sliding  down 
the  banisters.  I  am  so  fond  of  a  slide  that  I  could 
not  resist  the  temptation." 

"  Be  warned  by  me,  Agatha/'  said  Jane  impres- 
sively. '^  If  you  write  cheeky  things  in  that  book, 
you  will  be  expelled." 

"  Indeed!  "  replied  Agatha  significantly.  "  Wait 
until  Miss  Wilson  sees  what  you  have  written." 

"  Gertrude,"  cried  Jane,  with  sudden  misgiving, 
"  has  she  made  me  write  anything  improper?  Agatha, 
do  tell  me  if " 

Here  a  gong  sounded;  and  the  three  girls  simul- 
taneously exclaimed  "  Grub! "  and  rushed  from  the 
room. 


18 


CHAPTER   II 

One  sunny  afternoon,  a  hansom  drove  at  great  speed 
along  Belsize  Avenue,  St.  John's  Wood,  and  stopped 
before  a  large  mansion.  A  young  lady  sprang  out; 
ran  up  the  steps,  and  rang  the  bell  impatiently.  She 
was  of  the  olive  complexion,  with  a  sharp  profile:  dark 
eyes  with  long  lashes;  narrow  mouth  with  delicately 
sensuous  lips;  small  head,  feet,  and  hands,  with  long 
taper  fingers;  lithe  and  very  slender  figure  moving 
with  serpent-like  grace.  Oriental  taste  was  displayed 
in  the  colors  of  her  costume,  which  consisted  of  a 
white  dress,  close-fitting,  and  printed  with  an  elabor- 
ate china  blue  pattern;  a  yellow  straw  hat  covered  with 
artificial  hawthorn  and  scarlet  berries;  and  tan-colored 
gloves  reaching  beyond  the  elbow,  and  decorated  with 
a  profusion  of  gold  bangles. 

The  door  not  being  opened  immediately,  she  rang 
again,  violently,  and  was  presently  admitted  by  a 
maid,  who  seemed  surprised  to  see  her.  Without  mak- 
ing any  inquiry,  she  darted  upstairs  into  a  drawing- 
room,  where  a  matron  of  good  presence,  with  features 
of  the  finest  Jewish  type,  sat  reading.  With  her  was 
a  handsome  boy  in  black  velvet,  who  said: 

"  Mamma,  here's  Henrietta!  " 

"  Arthur,"  said  the  young  lady  excitedly,  "  leave 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

the' room  this  instant;  and  don't  dare  to  come  back 
until  you  get  leave." 

The  boy's  countenance  fell,  and  he  sulkily  went  out 
without  a  word. 

"Is  anything  wrong?"  said  the  matron,  putting 
away  her  book  with  the  unconcerned  resignation  of 
an  experienced  person  who  foresees  a  storm  in  a  tea- 
cup.    "  Where  is  Sidney?  " 

"Gone!      Cxone!      Deserted  me  !      I "      The 

young  lady's  utterance  failed,  and  she  threw  herself 
upon  an  ottoman,  sobbing  with  passionate  spite. 

"Nonsense!  I  thought  Sidney  had  more  sense. 
There,  Henrietta,  don't  be  silly.  I  suppose  you  have 
quarrelled." 

"No!  No!!  No!!!"  cried  Henrietta,  stamping  on 
the  carpet.  "  We  had  not  a  word.  I  have  not  lost 
my  temper  since  we  were  married,  mamma;  I  solemnly 
swear  I  have  not.  I  will  kill  myself;  there  is  no  other 
way.  There's  a  curse  on  me.  I  am  marked  out  to  be 
miserable.     He " 

"  Tut,  tut!  What  has  happened,  Henrietta?  As 
you  have  been  married  now  nearly  six  weeks,  you  can 
hardly  be  surprised  at  a  little  tiff  arising.  You  are 
so  excitable!  You  cannot  expect  the  sky  to  be  always 
cloudless.  Most  likely  you  are  to  blame;  for  Sidney 
is  far  more  reasonable  than  you.  Stop  crying,  and 
behave  like  a  woman  of  sense,  and  I  will  go  to  Sidney 
and  make  everything  right." 

"  But  he's  gone,  and  I  can't  find  out  where.  Oh, 
what  shall  I  do?" 

14 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"What  has  happened?" 

Henrietta  writhed  with  impatience.  Then,  forcing 
herself  to  tell  her  story,  she  answered: 

"  We  arranged  on  Monday  that  I  should  spend  two 
days  with  Aunt  Judith  instead  of  going  with  him  to 
Birmingham  to  that  horrid  Trade  Congress.  We 
parted  on  the  best  of  terms.  He  c — couldnH  have  been 
more  affectionate.  I  will  kill  myself;  I  don't  care 
about  anything  or  anybody.  And  when  I  came  back 
on  Wednesday  he  was  gone,  and  there  was  this 
lett "  She  produced  a  letter,  and  wept  more  bit- 
terly than  before. 

"  Let  me  see  it." 

Henrietta  hesitated,  but  her  mother  took  the  letter 
from  her,  sat  down  near  the  window,  and  composed 
herself  to  read  without  the  least  regard  to  her  daugh- 
ter's vehement  distress.     The  letter  ran  thus: 

"  Monday  night. 

"  My  Dearest :  I  am  off — surfeited  with  endearment 
— to  live  my  own  life  and  do  my  own  work.  I  could 
only  have  prepared  you  for  this  by  coldness  or  neglect, 
which  are  wholly  impossible  to  me  when  the  spell  of 
your  presence  is  upon  me.  I  find  that  I  must  fly  if 
I  am  to  save  myself. 

"I  am  afraid  that  I  cannot  give  you  satisfactory 
and  intelligible  reasons  for  this  step.  You  are  a 
beautiful  and  luxurious  creature:  life  is  to  you  full 
and  complete  only  when  it  is  a  carnival  of  love.  My 
case  is  just  the  reverse.     Before  three  soft  speeches 

15 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

have  escaped  me  I  rebuke  myself  for  folly  and  insin- 
cerity. Before  a  caress  has  had  time  to  cool,  a  strenu- 
ous revulsion  seizes  me:  I  long  to  return  to  my  old 
lonely  ascetic  hermit  life;  to  my  dry  books;  my  Social- 
ist propagandism;  my  voyage  of  discovery  through  the 
wilderness  of  thought.  I  married  in  an  insane  jfit  of 
belief  that  I  had  a  share  of  the  natural  affection  which 
carries  other  men  through  lifetimes  of  matrimony. 
Already  I  am  undeceived.  You  are  to  me  the  love- 
liest woman  in  the  world.  Well,  for  five  weeks  I  have 
walked  and  talked  and  dallied  with  the  loveliest 
woman  in  the  world,  and  the  upshot  is  that  I  am  fly- 
ing from  her,  and  am  for  a  hermit's  cave  until  I  die. 
Love  cannot  keep  possession  of  me:  all  my  strongest 
powers  rise  up  against  it  and  will  not  endure  it.  For- 
give me  for  writing  nonsense  that  you  won't  under- 
stand, and  do  not  think  too  hardly  of  me.  I  have 
been  as  good  to  you  as  my  selfish  nature  allowed.  Do 
not  seek  to  disturb  me  in  the  obscurity  which  I  desire 
and  deserve.  My  solicitor  will  call  on  your  father  to 
arrange  business  matters,  and  you  shall  be  as  happy 
as  wealth  and  liberty  can  make  you.  We  shall  meet 
again — some  day. 

"  Adieu,  my  last  love, 

"Sidney  Trefusis." 

"Well?"  cried  Mrs.  Trefusis,  observing  through 
her  tears  that  her  mother  had  read  the  letter  and  was 
contemplating  it  in  a  daze. 

"  Well,  certainly! "  said  Mrs.  Jansenius,  with  em- 
16 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

phasis.  ^'  Do  you  think  he  is  quite  sane,  Henrietta? 
Or  have  you  been  plaguing  him  for  too  much  atten- 
tion? Men  are  not  willing  to  give  up  their  whole  ex- 
istence to  their  wives,  even  during  the  honeymoon." 

"  He  pretended  that  he  was  never  happy  out  of  my 
presence,"  sobbed  Henrietta.  "  There  never  was  any- 
thing so  cruel.  I  often  wanted  to  be  by  myself  for  a 
change,  but  I  was  afraid  to  hurt  his  feelings  by  saying 
so.  And  now  he  has  no  feelings.  But  he  must  come 
back  to  me.     Mustn't  he,  mamma?  " 

"He  ought  to.  I  suppose  he  has  not  gone  away 
with  anyone?" 

Henrietta  sprang  up,  her  cheeks  vivid  scarlet.  "  If 
I  thought  that  I  would  pursue  him  to  the  end  of  the 
earth,  and  murder  her.  But  no;  he  is  not  like  any- 
body else.  He  hates  me.  Everybody  hates  me.  You 
don^t  care  whether  I  am  deserted  or  not,  nor  papa,  nor 
anyone  in  this  house." 

Mrs.  Jansenius,  still  indifferent  to  her  daughter's 
agitation,  considered  a  moment,  and  then  said 
placidly: 

"  You  can  do  nothing  until  we  hear  from  the  solici- 
tor. In  the  meantime  you  may  stay  with  us,  if  you 
wish.  I  did  not  expect  a  visit  from  you  so  soon; 
but  your  room  has  not  been  used  since  you  went 
away." 

Mrs.  Trefusis  ceased  crying,  chilled  by  this  first  in- 
timation that  her  father's  house  was  no  longer  her 
home.  A  more  real  sense  of  desolation  came  upon 
her.  Under  its  cold  influence  she  began  to  collect 
%  17 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

herself,  and  to  feel  her  pride  rising  like  a  barrier 
between  her  and  her  mother. 

"  I  won't  stay  long/'  she  said.  "  If  his  solicitor  will 
not  tell  me  where  he  is,  I  will  hunt  through  England 
for  him.     I  am  sorry  to  trouble  you." 

"  Oh,  you  will  be  no  greater  trouble  than  you  have 
always  been,"  said  Mrs.  Jansenius  calmly,  not  dis- 
pleased to  see  that  her  daughter  had  taken  the  hint. 
"  You  had  better  go  and  wash  your  face.  People  may 
call,  and  I  presume  you  don't  wish  to  receive  them  in 
that  plight.  If  you  meet  Arthur  on  the  stairs,  please 
tell  him  he  may  come  in." 

Henrietta  screwed  her  lips  into  a  curious  pout  and 
withdrew.  Arthur  then  came  in  and  stood  at  the 
window  in  sullen  silence,  brooding  over  his  recent 
expulsion.  Suddenly  he  exclaimed:  "Here's  papa, 
and  it's  not  five  o'clock  yet! "  whereupon  his  mother 
sent  him  away  again. 

Mr.  Jansenius  was  a  man  of  imposing  presence,  not 
yet  in  his  fiftieth  year,  but  not  far  from  it.  He  moved 
with  dignity,  bearing  himself  as  if  the  contents  of  his 
massive  brow  were  precious.  His  handsome  aquiline 
nose  and  keen  dark  eyes  proclaimed  his  Jewish  origin, 
of  which  he  was  ashamed.  Those  who  did  not  know 
this  naturally  believed  that  he  was  proud  of  it,  and 
were  at  a  loss  to  account  for  his  permitting  his  chil- 
dren to  be  educated  as  Christians.  Well  instructed 
in  business,  and  subject  to  no  emotion  outside  the  love 
of  family,  respectability,  comfort,  and  money,  he  had 
maintained  the  capital  inherited  from  his  father,  and 

18 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

made  it  breed  new  capital  in  the  usual  way.  He  was 
a  banker,  and  his  object  as  such  was  to  intercept  and 
appropriate  the  immense  saving  which  the  banking 
system  effects,  and  so,  as  far  as  possible,  to  leave  the 
rest  of  the  world  working  just  as  hard  as  before  bank- 
ing was  introduced.  But  as  the  world  would  not  on 
these  terms  have  banked  at  all,  he  had  to  give  them 
some  of  the  saving  as  an  inducement.  So  they  prof- 
ited by  the  saving  as  well  as  he,  and  he  had  the  satis- 
faction of  being  at  once  a  wealthy  citizen  and  a 
public  benefactor,  rich  in  comforts  and  easy  in  con- 
science. 

He  entered  the  room  quickly,  and  his  wife  saw  that 
something  had  vexed  him. 

"  Do  you  know  what  has  happened,  Euth?  "  he  said. 

"  Yes.     She  is  upstairs." 

Mr.  Jansenius  stared.  "  Do  you  mean  to  say  that 
she  has  left  already?  "  he  said.  "  What  business  has 
she  to  come  here?  " 

"  It  is  natural  enough.  Where  else  should  she  have 
gone?" 

Mr.  Jansenius,  who  mistrusted  his  own  judgment 
when  it  differed  from  that  of  his  wife,  replied  slowly, 
"  Why  did  she  not  go  to  her  mother?  " 

Mrs.  Jansenius,  puzzled  in  her  turn,  looked  at  him 
with  cool  wonder,  and  remarked,  "  I  am  her  mother, 
am  I  not?" 

"  I  was  not  aware  of  it.  I  am  surprised  to  hear  it, 
Ruth.     Have  you  had  a  letter  too?  " 

"  I  have  seen  the  letter.  But  what  do  you  mean  by 
19 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

telling  me  that  you  do  not  know  I  am  Henrietta's 
mother?     Are  you  trying  to  be  funny?  " 

"Henrietta!  Is  she  here?  Is  this  some  fresh 
trouble?'' 

"  I  don't  know.     What  are  you  talking  about?  " 

"  I  am  talking  about  Agatha  Wylie." 

"Oh!     I  was  talking  about  Henrietta.'^ 

"  Well,  what  about  Henrietta?  " 

"  What  about  Agatha  Wylie  ?  " 

At  this  Mr.  Jansenius  became  exasperated,  and  she 
deemed  it  best  to  relate  what  Henrietta  had  told  her. 
When  she  gave  him  Trefusis's  letter,  he  said,  more 
calmly:  "  Misfortunes  never  come  singly.  Read  that," 
and  handed  her  another  letter,  so  that  they  both  be- 
gan reading  at  the  same  time. 

Mrs.  Jansenius  read  as  follows: 

"Alton  College,  Lyvern. 
"  To  Mrs.  Wylie,  Acacia  Lodge,  Chiswick. 

"  Dear  Madam :  I  write  with  great  regret  to  request 
that  you  will  at  once  withdraw  Miss  Wylie  from  Alton 
College.  In  an  establishment  like  this,  where  re- 
straint upon  the  liberty  of  the  students  is  reduced  to 
a  minimum,  it  is  necessary  that  the  small  degree  of 
subordination  which  is  absolutely  indispensable  be 
acquiesced  in  by  all  without  complaint  or  delay.  Miss 
Wylie  has  failed  to  comply  with  this  condition.  She 
has  declared  her  wish  to  leave,  and  has  assumed  an 
attitude  towards  myself  and  my  colleagues  which  we 
cannot,  consistently  with  our  duty  to  ourselves  and 

20 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

her  fellow  students,  pass  over.  If  Miss  Wylie  has  any 
cause  to  complain  of  her  treatment  here,  or  of  the  step 
which  she  has  compelled  us  to  take,  she  will  doubtless 
make  it  known  to  you. 

"  Perhaps  you  will  be  so  good  as  to  communicate 
with  MissWylie's  guardian,  Mr.  Jansenius,  with  whom 
I  shall  be  happy  to  make  an  equitable  arrangement 
respecting  the  fees  which  have  been  paid  in  advance 
for  the  current  term. 

"  I  am,  dear  madam, 

"  Yours  faithfully, 

^*  Maria  Wilson." 

"  A  nice  young  lady,  that!  "  said  Mrs.  Jansenius. 

"  I  do  not  understand  this,"  said  Mr.  Jansenius, 
reddening  as  he  took  in  the  purport  of  his  son-in-law's 
letter.  "  I  will  not  submit  to  it.  What  does  it  mean, 
Ruth?" 

"I  don't  know.  Sidney  is  mad,  I  think;  and  his 
honeymoon  has  brought  his  madness  out.  But  you 
must  not  let  him  throw  Henrietta  on  my  hands 
again." 

"  Mad!  Does  he  think  he  can  shirk  his  responsi- 
bility to  his  wife  because  she  is  my  daughter?  Does 
he  think,  because  his  mother's  father  was  a  baronet, 
that  he  can  put  Henrietta  aside  the  moment  her  so- 
ciety palls  on  him?  " 

"  Oh,  it's  nothing  of  that  sort.  He  never  thought 
of  us." 

"  But  I  will  make  him  think  of  us,"  said  Mr.  Jan- 
21 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

senius^  raising  his  voice  in  great  agitation.  ^^  He  shall 
answer  for  it." 

Just  then  Henrietta  returned,  and  saw  her  father 
moving  excitedly  to  and  fro,  repeating,  "  He  shall 
answer  to  me  for  this.     He  shall  answer  for  it." 

Mrs.  Jansenius  frowned  at  her  daughter  to  remain 
silent,  and  said  soothingly,  "  Don't  lose  your  temper, 
John." 

"  But  I  will  lose  my  temper.  Insolent  hound  ! 
Damned  scoundrel! " 

"  He  is  no/,"  whimpered  Henrietta,  sitting  down 
and  taking  out  her  handkerchief. 

'^  Oh,  come,  come! "  said  Mrs.  Jansenius  peremp- 
torily, "  we  have  had  enough  crying.  Let  us  have  no 
more  of  it." 

Henrietta  sprang  up  in  a  passion.  "  I  will  say  and 
do  as  I  please,"  she  exclaimed.  "I  am  a  married 
woman,  and  I  will  receive  no  orders.  And  I  will  have 
my  hushand  back  again,  no  matter  what  he  does  to 
hide  himself.  Papa,  won't  you  make  him  come  back 
tome?  I  am  dying.  Promise  that  you  will  make  him 
come  back." 

And,  throwing  herself  upon  her  father's  bosom,  she 
postponed  further  discussion  by  going  into  hysterics, 
and  startling  the  household  by  her  screams. 


CHAPTEE   III 

One  of  the  professors  at  Alton  College  was  a  Mrs. 
Miller,  an  old-fashioned  schoolmistress  who  did  not 
believe  in  Miss  Wilson's  system  of  government  by 
moral  force,  and  carried  it  out  under  protest.  Though 
not  ill-natured,  she  was  narrow-minded  enough  to  be 
in  some  degree  contemptible,  and  was  consequently 
prone  to  suspect  others  of  despising  her.  She  sus- 
pected Agatha  in  particular,  and  treated  her  with 
disdainful  curtness  in  such  intercourse  as  they  had — 
it  was  fortunately  little.  Agatha  was  not  hurt  by  this, 
for  Mrs.  Miller  was  an  unsympathetic  woman,  who 
made  no  friends  among  the  girls,  and  satisfied  her  af- 
fectionate impulses  by  petting  a  large  cat  named  Grac- 
chus, but  generally  called  Bacchus  by  an  endearing 
modification  of  the  harsh  initial  consonant. 

One  evening  Mrs.  Miller,  seated  with  Miss  Wilson 
in  the  study,  correcting  examination  papers,  heard  in 
the  distance  a  cry  like  that  of  a  eat  in  distress.  She 
ran  to  the  door  and  listened.  Presently  there  arose 
a  prolonged  wail,  slurring  up  through  two  octaves,  and 
subsiding  again.  It  was  a  true  feline  screech,  impos- 
sible to  localize;  but  it  was  interrupted  by  a  sob,  a 
snarl,  a  fierce  spitting,  and  a  scuffling,  coming  un- 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

mistakably  from  a  room  on  the  floor  beneath,  in 
which,  at  that  hour,  the  older  girls  assembled  for 
study. 

"  My  poor  Gracchy! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Miller,  run- 
ning downstairs  as  fast  as  she  could.  She  found  the 
room  unusually  quiet.  Every  girl  was  deep  in  study 
except  Miss  Carpenter,  who,  pretending  to  pick  up  a 
fallen  book,  was  purple  with  suppressed  laughter  and 
the  congestion  caused  by  stooping. 

^'  Where  is  Miss  Ward  ?  '^  demanded  Mrs.  Miller. 

"Miss  Ward  has  gone  for  some  astronomical  dia- 
grams in  which  we  are  interested,"  said  Agatha,  look- 
ing up  gravely.  Just  then  Miss  Ward,  diagrams  in 
hand,  entered. 

"  Has  that  cat  been  in  here?  "  she  said,  not  seeing 
Mrs.  Miller,  and  speaking  in  a  tone  expressive  of 
antipathy  to  Gracchus. 

Agatha  started  and  drew  up  her  ankles,  as  if  fear- 
ful of  having  them  bitten.  Then,  looking  appre- 
hensively under  the  desk,  she  replied,  "  There  is  no 
cat  here.  Miss  Ward." 

*^  There  is  one  somewhere;  I  heard  it,"  said  Miss 
Ward  carelessly,  unrolling  her  diagrams,  which  she 
began  to  explain  without  further  parley.  Mrs.  Miller, 
anxious  for  her  pet,  hastened  to  seek  it  elsewhere.  In 
the  hall  she  met  one  of  the  housemaids. 

"Susan,"  she  said,  "have  you  seen  Gracchus?" 

"  He's  asleep  on  the  hearthrug  in  your  room, 
ma'am." 

"  But  I  heard  him  crying  down  here  a  moment  ago. 
24 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

I  feel  sure  that  another  cat  has  got  in,  and  that  they 
are  fighting." 

Susan  smiled  compassionately.  "Lor'  bless  you, 
ma'am,"  she  said,  "  that  was  Miss  Wylie.  It's  a  sort 
of  play-acting  that  she  goes  through.  There  is  the 
bee  on  the  window-pane,  and  the  soldier  up  the  chim- 
ley,  and  the  cat  under  the  dresser.  She  does  them  all 
like  life." 

"  The  soldier  in  the  chimney! "  repeated  Mrs. 
Miller,  shocked. 

"  Yes,  ma'am.  Like  as  it  were  a  follower  that  had 
hid  there  when  he  heard  the  mistress  coming." 

Mrs.  Miller's  face  set  determinedly.  She  returned 
to  the  study  and  related  what  had  just  occurred,  add- 
ing some  sarcastic  comments  on  the  efficacy  of  moral 
force  in  maintaining  collegiate  discipline.  Miss  Wil- 
son looked  grave;  considered  for  some  time;  and  at 
last  said:  "  I  must  think  over  this.  Would  you  mind 
leaving  it  in  my  hands  for  the  present?  " 

Mrs.  Miller  said  that  she  did  not  care  in  whose 
hands  it  remained  provided  her  own  were  washed  of  it, 
and  resumed  her  work  at  the  papers.  Miss  Wilson 
then,  wishing  to  be  alone,  went  into  the  empty  class- 
room at  the  other  side  of  the  landing.  She  took  the 
Fault  Book  from  its  shelf  and  sat  down  before  it.  Its 
record  closed  with  the  announcement,  in  Agatha's 
handwriting: 

"  Miss  Wilson  has  called  me  impertinent,  and  has 
written  to  my  uncle  that  I  have  refused  to  obey  the 

25 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

rules.     I  was  not  impertinent;  and  I  never  refused 
to  obey  the  rules.     So  much  for  Moral  Force! '' 

Miss  Wilson  rose  vigorously,  exclaiming:  "I  will 
soon  let  her  know  whether "  She  checked  her- 
self, and  looked  round  hastily,  superstitiously  fancy- 
ing that  Agatha  might  have  stolen  into  the  room  un- 
observed. Eeassured  that  she  was  alone,  she  exam- 
ined her  conscience  as  to  whether  she  had  done  wrong 
in  calling  Agatha  impertinent,  justifying  herself  by 
the  reflection  that  Agatha  had,  in  fact,  been  imperti- 
nent. Yet  she  recollected  that  she  had  refused  to 
admit  this  plea  on  a  recent  occasion  when  Jane  Car- 
penter had  advanced  it  in  extenuation  of  having 
called  a  fellow-student  a  liar.  Had  she  then  been 
unjust  to  Jane,  or  inconsiderate  to  Agatha? 

Her  casuistry  was  interrupted  by  some  one  softly 
whistling  a  theme  from  the  overture  to  Masaniello, 
popular  at  the  college  in  the  form  of  an  arrangement 
for  six  pianofortes  and  twelve  hands.  There  was  only 
one  student  unladylike  and  musical  enough  to  whistle; 
and  Miss  Wilson  was  ashamed  to  find  herself  growing 
nervous  at  the  prospect  of  an  encounter  with  Agatha, 
who  entered  whistling  sweetly,  but  with  a  lugubrious 
countenance.  When  she  saw  in  whose  presence  she 
stood,  she  begged  pardon  politely,  and  was  about  to 
withdraw,  when  Miss  Wilson,  summoning  all  her 
judgment  and  tact,  and  hoping  that  they  would — 
contrary  to  their  custom  in  emergencies — respond  to 
the  summons,  said: 

96 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"  Agatha,  come  here.     I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

Agatha  closed  her  lips,  drew  in  a  long  breath 
through  her  nostrils,  and  marched  to  within  a  few 
feet  of  Miss  Wilson,  where  she  halted  with  her  hands 
clasped  before  her. 

"  Sit  down." 

Agatha  sat  down  with  a  single  movement,  like  a  doll. 

"  I  don't  understand  that,  Agatha,"  said  Miss  Wil- 
son, pointing  to  the  entry  in  the  Kecording  Angel. 
"What  does  it  mean?" 

"  I  am  unfairly  treated,"  said  Agatha,  with  signs  of 
agitation. 

"  In  what  way?  " 

"  In  every  way.  I  am  expected  to  be  something 
more  than  mortal.  Everyone  else  is  encouraged  to 
complain,  and  to  be  weak  and  silly.  But  I  must  have 
no  feeling.  I  must  be  always  in  the  right.  Every- 
one else  may  be  home-sick,  or  huffed,  or  in  low  spirits. 
I  must  have  no  nerves,  and  must  keep  others  laughing 
all  day  long.  Everyone  else  may  sulk  when  a  word 
of  reproach  is  addressed  to  them,  and  may  make  the 
professors  afraid  to  find  fault  with  them.  I  have  to 
bear  with  the  insults  of  teachers  who  have  less  self- 
control  than  I,  a  girl  of  seventeen!  and  must  coax 
them  out  of  the  difficulties  they  make  for  themselves 
by  their  own  ill  temper." 

"  But,  Agatha " 

"  Oh,  I  know  I  am  talking  nonsense.  Miss  Wilson; 
but  can  you  expect  me  to  be  always  sensible — to  be 
infaUible?'^ 

87 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"Yes,  Agatha;  I  do  not  think  it  is  too  much  to 
expect  you  to  be  always  sensible;  and " 

"  Then  you  have  neither  sense  nor  sympathy  your- 
self/' said  Agatha. 

There  was  an  awful  pause.  Neither  could  have 
told  how  long  it  lasted.  Then  Agatha,  feeling  that 
she  must  do  or  say  something  desperate,  or  else  fly, 
made  a  distracted  gesture  and  ran  out  of  the 
room. 

She  rejoined  her  companions  in  the  great  hall  of  the 
mansion,  where  they  were  assembled  after  study  for 
"recreation,''  a  noisy  process  which  always  set  in  spon- 
taneously when  the  professors  withdrew.  She  usually 
sat  with  her  two  favorite  associates  on  a  high  window 
seat  near  the  hearth.  That  place  was  now  occupied 
by  a  little  girl  with  flaxen  hair,  whom  Agatha,  regard- 
less of  moral  force,  lifted  by  the  shoulders  and  de- 
posited on  the  floor.     Then  she  sat  down  and  said: 

"  Oh,  such  a  piece  of  news!  " 

Miss  Carpenter  opened  her  eyes  eagerly.  Gertrude 
Lindsay  afl'ected  indifference. 

"  Someone  is  going  to  be  expelled,"  said  Agatha. 

"Expelled!     Who?" 

"You  will  know  soon  enough,  Jane,"  replied 
Agatha,  suddenly  grave.  "  It  is  someone  who  made 
an  impudent  entry  in  the  Eecording  Angel." 

Fear  stole  upon  Jane,  and  she  became  very  red. 
"  Agatha,"  she  said,  "  it  was  you  who  told  me  what 
to  write.  You  know  you  did,  and  you  can't  deny 
it/' 

98 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"I  can't  deny  it,  can't  I?  I  am  ready  to  swear 
that  I  never  dictated  a  word  to  you  in  my  life." 

"  Gertrude  knows  you  did,"  exclaimed  Jane,  ap- 
palled, and  almost  in  tears. 

"  There,"  said  Agatha,  petting  her  as  if  she  were  a 
vast  baby.  "It  shall  not  be  expelled,  so  it  shan't. 
Have  you  seen  the  Eecording  Angel  lately,  either  of 
you?" 

"  Not  since  our  last  entry,"  said  Gertrude. 

"  Chips,"  said  Agatha,  calling  to  the  flaxen-haired 
child,  "  go  upstairs  to  No.  6,  and,  if  Miss  Wilson  isn't 
there,  fetch  me  the  Eecording  Angel." 

The  little  girl  grumbled  inarticulately  and  did  not 
stir. 

"  Chips,"  resumed  Agatha,  "  did  you  ever  wish  that 
you  had  never  been  born?  " 

"  Why  don't  you  go  yourself?  "  said  the  child  pet- 
tishly, but  evidently  alarmed. 

"  Because,"  continued  Agatha,  ignoring  the  ques- 
tion, "  you  shall  wish  yourself  dead  and  buried  under 
the  blackest  flag  in  the  coal  cellar  if  you  don't  bring 
me  the  book  before  I  count  sixteen.    One — two " 

"  Go  at  once  and  do  as  you  are  told,  you  disagree- 
able little  thing,"  said  Gertrude  sharply.  "  How  dare 
you  be  so  disobliging?  " 

" — ^nine — ten — eleven "  pursued  Agatha. 

The  child  quailed,  went  out,  and  presently  re- 
turned, hugging  the  Recording  Angel  in  her  arms. 

"  You  are  a  good  little  darling — when  your  better 
qualities  are  brought  out  by  a  judicious  application 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

of  moral  force,"  said  Agatha,  good-humoredly.  "  Ee- 
mind  me  to  save  the  raisins  out  of  my  pudding  for 
you  to-morrow.  I^ow,  Jane,  you  shall  see  the  entry 
for  which  the  best-hearted  girl  in  the  college  is  to  be 
expelled.     Voild ! " 

The  two  girls  read  and  were  awestruck;  Jane  open- 
ing her  mouth  and  gasping,  Gertrude  closing  hers 
and  looking  very  serious. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  had  the  dreadful 
cheek  to  let  the  Lady  Abbess  see  that?  "  said  Jane. 

"  Pooh!  she  would  have  forgiven  that.  You  should 
have  heard  what  I  said  to  her!  She  fainted  three 
times.'' 

"  That's  a  story,"  said  Gertrude  gravely. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Agatha,  swiftly  grasping 
Gertrude's  knee. 

"  Nothing,"  cried  Gertrude,  flinching  hysterically. 
"Don't,  Agatha." 

"  How  many  times  did  Miss  Wilson  faint?  " 

"  Three  times.  I  will  scream,  Agatha;  I  will 
indeed." 

"  Three  times,  as  you  say.  And  I  wonder  that  a 
girl  brought  up  as  you  have  been,  by  moral  force, 
should  be  capable  of  repeating  such  a  falsehood.  But 
we  had  an  awful  row,  really  and  truly.  She  lost  her 
temper.     Fortunately,  I  never  lose  mine." 

"Well,  I'm  blowed!  "  exclaimed  Jane  incredulously. 
"  I  like  that." 

"  For  a  girl  of  county  family,  you  are  inexcusably 
vulgar,  Jane.     I  don't  know  what  I  said;  but  she  will 

80 


An  Unsocial  Scx:ialist 

never  forgive  me  for  profaning  her  pet  book.    I  shall 
be  expelled  as  certainly  as  I  am  sitting  here."' 

"  And  do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  are  going 
away?"  said  Jane,  faltering  as  she  began  to  realize 
the  consequences. 

"  I  do.  And  what  is  to  become  of  you  when  I  am 
not  here  to  get  you  out  of  your  scrapes,  or  of  Gertrude 
without  me  to  check  her  inveterate  snobbishness,  is 
more  than  I  can  foresee." 

"  I  am  not  snobbish,"  said  Gertrude,  "  although  I 
do  not  choose  to  make  friends  with  everyone.  But 
I  never  objected  to  you,  Agatha." 

"No;  I  should  like  to  catch  you  at  it.  Hallo, 
Jane!  "  (who  had  suddenly  burst  into  tears):  "  what's 
the  matter?  I  trust  you  are  not  permitting  yourself 
to  take  the  liberty  of  crying  for  me." 

"  Indeed,"  sobbed  Jane  indignantly,  "  I  know  that 
I  am  a  f — fool  for  my  pains.     You  have  no  heart." 

"  You  certainly  are  a  f — fool,  as  you  aptly  express 
it,"  said  Agatha,  passing  her  arm  round  Jane,  and 
disregarding  an  angry  attempt  to  shake  it  off;  "  but  if 
I  had  any  heart  it  would  be  touched  by  this  proof  of 
your  attachment." 

"  I  never  said  you  had  no  heart,"  protested  Jane; 
"  but  I  hate  when  you  speak  like  a  book." 

"  You  hate  when  I  speak  like  a  book,  do  you?  My 
dear,  silly  old  Jane!  I  shall  miss  you  greatly." 

"  Yes,  I  dare  say,"  said  Jane,  with  tearful  sarcasm. 
"At  least  my  snoring  will  never  keep  you  awake 
again." 

81 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"  You  don't  snore,  Jane.  We  have  been  in  a  con- 
spiracy to  make  you  believe  that  you  do,  that's  all. 
Isn't  it  good  of  me  to  tell  you?  " 

Jane  was  overcome  by  this  revelation.  After  a 
long  pause,  she  said  with  deep  conviction,  "  I  always 
hnew  that  I  didn't.  Oh,  the  way  you  kept  it  up!  I 
solemnly  declare  that  from  this  time  forth  I  will  be- 
lieve nobody." 

"Well,  and  what  do  you  think  of  it  all?"  said 
Agatha,  transferring  her  attention  to  Gertrude,  who 
was  very  grave. 

"  I  think — I  am  now  speaking  seriously,  Agatha— ^ 
I  think  you  are  in  the  wrong." 

"Why  do  you  think  that,  pray?"  demanded 
Agatha,  a  little  roused. 

"  You  must  be,  or  Miss  Wilson  would  not  be  angry 
with  you.  Of  course,  according  to  your  own  account, 
you  are  always  in  the  right,  and  everyone  else  is  al- 
ways wrong;  but  you  shouldn't  have  written  that  in 
the  book.     You  know  I  speak  as  your  friend." 

"And  pray  what  does  your  wretched  little  soul 
know  of  my  motives  and  feelings?  " 

"It  is  easy  enough  to  understand  you,"  retorted 
Gertrude,  nettled.  "  Self-conceit  is  not  so  uncom- 
mon that  one  need  be  at  a  loss  to  recognize  it.  And 
mind,  Agatha  Wylie,"  she  continued,  as  if  goaded  by 
some  unbearable  reminiscence,  "  if  you  are  really 
going,  I  don't  care  whether  we  part  friends  or  not.  I 
have  not  forgotten  the  day  when  you  called  me  a 
spiteful  cat." 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"  I  have  repented,"  said  Agatha,  unmoved.  "  One 
day  I  sat  down  and  watched  Bacchus  seated  on  the 
hearthrug,  with  his  moony  eyes  looking  into  space  so 
thoughtfully  and  patiently  that  I  apologized  for  com- 
paring you  to  him.  If  I  were  to  call  him  a  spiteful 
cat  he  would  only  not  believe  me." 

"  Because  he  is  a  cat,"  said  Jane,  with  the  giggle 
which  was  seldom  far  behind  her  tears. 

"  No;  but  because  he  is  not  spiteful.  Gertrude 
keeps  a  recording  angel  inside  her  little  head,  and  it 
is  so  full  of  other  people's  faults,  written  in  large 
hand  and  read  through  a  magnifying  glass,  that  there 
is  no  room  to  enter  her  own." 

"  You  are  very  poetic,"  said  Gertrude  ;  "  but  I 
understand  what  you  mean,  and  shall  not  forget 
it." 

"  You  ungrateful  wretch,"  exclaimed  Agatha,  turn- 
ing upon  her  so  suddenly  and  imperiously  that  she 
involuntarily  shrank  aside:  "  how  often,  when  you 
have  tried  to  be  insolent  and  false  with  me,  have  I  not 
driven  away  your  bad  angel — by  tickling  you?  Had 
you  a  friend  in  the  college,  except  half-a-dozen  toad- 
ies, until  I  came?  And  now,  because  I  have  some- 
times, for  your  own  good,  shown  you  your  faults,  you 
bear  malice  against  me,  and  say  that  you  don't  care 
whether  we  part  friends  or  not!  "    . 

"  I  didn't  say  so." 

"  Oh,  Gertrude,  you  know  you  did,"  said  Jane. 

"You  seem  to  think  that  I  have  no  conscience," 
said  Gertrude  querulously. 
3  33 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"  I  wish  you  hadn't/'  said  Agatha.  ''  Look  at  me! 
I  have  no  conscience,  and  see  how  much  pleasanter  I 
am! " 

"  You  care  for  no  one  but  yourself,"  said  Gertrude. 
"  You  never  think  that  other  people  have  feelings  too. 
No  one  ever  considers  me." 

"  Oh,  I  like  to  hear  you  talk,"  cried  Jane  ironically. 
"  You  are  considered  a  great  deal  more  than  is  good 
for  you;  and  the  more  you  are  considered  the  more 
you  want  to  be  considered." 

"  As  if,"  declaimed  Agatha  theatrically,  "  increase 
of  appetite  did  grow  by  what  it  fed  on.  Shake- 
speare! " 

"  Bother  .Shakespeare,"  said  Jane,  impetuously  ; 
"  — old  fool  that  expects  credit  for  saying  things  that 
everybody  knows!  But  if  you  complain  of  not  being 
considered,  Gertrude,  how  would  you  like  to  be  me, 
whom  everybody  sets  down  as  a  fool?  But  I  am  not 
such  a  fool  as " 

"  As  you  look,"  interposed  Agatha.  "  I  have  told 
you  so  scores  of  times,  Jane;  and  I  am  glad  that  you 
have  adopted  my  opinion  at  last.  Which  would  you 
rather  he,  a  greater  fool  than  y " 

"  Oh,  shut  up,"  said  Jane,  impatiently;  "  you  have 
asked  me  that  twice  this  week  already." 

The  three  were  silent  for  some  seconds  after  this: 
Agatha  meditating,  Gertrude  moody,  Jane  vacant  and 
restless.     At  last  Agatha  said: 

"  And  are  you  two  also  smarting  under  a  sense  of 
the  inconsiderateness  and  selfishness  of  the  rest  of  the 

84 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

world  —  both  misunderstood  —  everything  expected 
from  you,  and  no  allowances  made  for  you?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  both  of  us,"  said 
Gertrude  coldly. 

"  Neither  do  I,"  said  Jane  angrily.  "  That  is  just 
the  way  people  treat  me.  You  may  laugh,  Aga- 
tha; and  she  may  turn  up  her  nose  as  much  as 
she  likes;  you  know  it's  true.  But  the  idea  of 
Gertrude  wanting  to  make  out  that  she  isn't  con- 
sidered is  nothing  but  sentimentality,  and  vanity,  and 
nonsense." 

"  You  are  exceedingly  rude.  Miss  Carpenter,"  said 
Gertrude. 

"My  manners  are  as  good  as  yours,  and  perhaps 
better,"  retorted  Jane.  "  My  family  is  as  good,  any- 
how." 

"  Children,  children,"  said  Agatha,  admonitorily, 
"  do  not  forget  that  you  are  sworn  friends." 

"  We  didn't  swear,"  said  Jane.  "  We  were  to  have 
been  three  sworn  friends,  and  Gertrude  and  I  were 
willing,  but  you  wouldn't  swear,  and  so  the  bargain 
was  cried  off." 

"  Just  so,"  said  Agatha;  "  and  the  result  is  that  I 
spend  all  my  time  in  keeping  peace  between  you. 
And  now,  to  go  back  to  our  subject,  may  I  ask  whether 
it  has  ever  occurred  to  you  that  no  one  ever  considers 
me?" 

"  I  suppose  you  think  that  very  funny.  You 
take  good  care  to  make  yourself  considered,"  sneered 
Jane. 

85 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

*'  You  cannot  say  that  I  do  not  consider  you/'  said 
Gertrude  reproachfully. 

"  Not  when  I  tickle  you,  dear." 

"I  consider  you,  and  I  am  not  ticklesome,"  said 
Jane  tenderly. 

"  Indeed!  Let  me  try,"  said  Agatha,  slipping  her 
arm  about  Jane's  ample  waist,  and  eliciting  a  piercing 
combination  of  laugh  and  scream  from  her. 

"  Sh — sh,"  whispered  Gertrude  quickly.  "  Don't 
you  see  the  Lady  Abbess?  " 

Miss  Wilson  had  just  entered  the  room.  Agatha, 
without  appearing  to  be  aware  of  her  presence, 
stealthily  withdrew  her  arm,  and  said  aloud: 

"  How  can  you  make  such  a  noise,  Jane?  You  will 
disturb  the  whole  house." 

•  Jane  reddened  with  indignation,  but  had  to  remain 
silent,  for  the  eyes  of  the  principal  were  upon  her. 
Miss  Wilson  had  her  bonnet  on.  She  announced  that 
she  was  going  to  walk  to  Lyvern,  the  nearest  village. 
Did  any  of  the  sixth  form  young  ladies  wish  to 
accompany  her? 

Agatha  jumped  from  her  seat  at  once,  and  Jane 
smothered  a  laugh. 

"  Miss  Wilson  said  the  sixth  form.  Miss  Wylie,"  said 
Miss  Ward,  who  had  entered  also.  "  You  are  not  in 
the  sixth  form." 

"  No,"  said  Agatha  sweetly,  "  but  I  want  to  go,  if  I 
may." 

Miss  Wilson  looked  round.  The  sixth  form  con- 
sisted of  four  studious  young  ladies,  whose  goal  in  life 

36 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

for  the  present  was  an  examination  by  one  of  the 
Universities,  or,  as  the  college  phrase  was,  "  the  Cam- 
bridge Local."     None  of  them  responded. 

"  Fifth  form,  then,"  said  Miss  Wilson. 

Jane,  Gertrude,  and  four  others  rose  and  stood  with 
Agatha. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Miss  Wilson.  "  Do  not  be  long 
dressing." 

They  left  the  room  quietly,  and  dashed  at  the  stair- 
case the  moment  they  were  out  of  sight.  Agatha, 
though  void  of  emulation  for  the  Cambridge  Local, 
always  competed  with  ardor  for  the  honor  of  being 
first  up  or  down  stairs. 

They  soon  returned,  clad  for  walking,  and  left  the 
college  in  procession,  two  by  two:  Jane  and  Agatha 
leading,  Gertrude  and  Miss  Wilson  coming  last.  The 
road  to  Lyvern  lay  through  acres  of  pasture  land,  for- 
merly arable,  now  abandoned  to  cattle,  which  made 
more  money  for  the  landlord  than  the  men  whom  they 
had  displaced.  Miss  Wilson's  young  ladies,  being  in- 
structed in  economics,  knew  that  this  proved  that  the 
land  was  being  used  to  produce  what  was  most 
wanted  from  it;  and  if  all  the  advantage  went  to  the 
landlord,  that  was  but  natural,  as  he  was  the  chief 
gentleman  in  the  neighborhood.  Still  the  arrange- 
ment had  its  disagreeable  side;  for  it  involved  a  great 
many  cows,  which  made  them  afraid  to  cross  the 
fields;  a  great  many  tramps,  who  made  them  afraid 
to  walk  the  roads;  and  a  scarcity  of  gentlemen  sub- 
jects for  the  maiden  art  of  fascination. 

37 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

The  sky  was  cloudy.  Agatha,  reckless  of  dusty 
stockings,  waded  through  the  heaps  of  fallen  leaves 
with  the  delight  of  a  child  paddling  in  the  sea;  Ger- 
trude picked  her  steps  carefully,  and  the  rest  tramped 
along,  chatting  subduedly,  occasionally  making  some 
scientific  or  philosophical  remark  in  a  louder  tone,  in 
order  that  Miss  Wilson  might  overhear  and  give  them 
due  credit.  Save  a  herdsman,  who  seemed  to  have 
caught  something  of  the  nature  and  expression  of  the 
beasts  he  tended,  they  met  no  one  until  they  ap- 
proached the  village,  where,  on  the  brow  of  an  accli- 
vity, masculine  humanity  appeared  in  the  shape  of 
two  curates:  one  tall,  thin,  close  shaven,  with  a  book 
under  his  arm,  and  his  neck  craned  forward;  the  other 
middle-sized,  robust,  upright,  and  aggressive,  with 
short  black  whiskers,  and  an  air  of  protest  against 
such  notions  as  that  a  clergyman  may  not  marry, 
hunt,  play  cricket,  or  share  the  sports  of  honest  lay- 
men. The  shaven  one  was  Mr.  Josephs,  his  com- 
panion Mr.  Fairholme.  Obvious  scriptural  perver- 
sions of  this  brace  of  names  had  been  introduced  by 
Agatha. 

"  Here  come  Pharaoh  and  Joseph,"  she  said  to 
Jane.  "Joseph  will  blush  when  you  look  at  him. 
Pharaoh  won't  blush  until  he  passes  Gertrude,  so  we 
shall  lose  that." 

"  Josephs,  indeed!  "  said  Jane  scornfully. 

"  He  loves  you,  Jane.  Thin  persons  like  a  fine 
armful  of  a  woman.  Pharaoh,  who  is  a  cad,  likes  blue 
blood  on  the  same  principle  of  the  attraction  of  oppo- 

88 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

sites.  That  is  why  he  is  captivated  by  Gertrude's 
aristocratic  air, '' 

"  If  he  only  knew  how  she  despises  him!  " 

"  He  is  too  vain  to  suspect  it.  Besides,  Gertrude 
despises  everyone,  even  us.  Or,  rather,  she  doesn't  de- 
spise anyone  in  particular,  but  is  contemptuous  by 
nature,  just  as  you  are  stout." 

"  Mf !  I  had  rather  be  stout  than  stuck-up.  Ought 
we  to  bow?  " 

"  I  will,  certainly.  I  want  to  make  Pharoah  blush, 
if  I  can." 

The  two  parsons  had  been  simulating  an  interest 
in  the  cloudy  firmament  as  an  excuse  for  not  looking 
at  the  girls  until  close  at  hand.  Jane  sent  an  eyeflash 
at  Josephs  with  a  skill  which  proved  her  favorite  as- 
sertion that  she  was  not  so  stupid  as  people  thought. 
He  blushed  and  took  off  his  soft,  low-crowned  felt 
hat.  Fairholme  saluted  very  solemnly,  for  Agatha 
bowed  to  him  with  marked  seriousness.  But  when 
his  gravity  and  his  stiff  silk  hat  were  at  their  highest 
point  she  darted  a  mocking  smile  at  him,  and  he  too 
blushed,  all  the  deeper  because  he  was  enraged  with 
himself  for  doing  so. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  such  a  pair  of  fools?  "  whispered 
Jane,  giggling. 

"  They  cannot  help  their  sex.  They  say  wo- 
men are  fools,  and  so  they  are;  but  thank  Heaven 
they  are  not  quite  so  bad  as  men!  I  should  like 
to  look  back  and  see  Pharaoh  passing  Gertrude; 
but  if  he  saw  me  he  would  think  I  was  admiring 

39 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

him;  and  he  is  conceited  enough  already  without 
that." 

The  two  curates  became  redder  and  redder  as  they 
passed  the  column  of  young  ladies.  Miss  Lindsay 
would  not  look  to  their  side  of  the  road,  and  Miss 
Wilson's  nod  and  smile  were  not  quite  sincere.  She 
never  spoke  to  curates,  and  kept  up  no  more  inter- 
course with  the  vicar  than  she  could  not  avoid.  He 
suspected  her  of  being  an  infidel,  though  neither  he 
nor  any  other  mortal  in  Lyvern  had  ever  heard  a  word 
from  her  on  the  subject  of  her  religious  opinions. 
But  he  knew  that  "  moral  science  "  was  taught  secu- 
larly at  the  college;  and  he  felt  that  where  morals 
were  made  a  department  of  science  the  demand  for 
religion  must  fall  off  proportionately. 

"  What  a  life  to  lead  and  what  a  place  to  live  in! " 
exclaimed  Agatha.  "We  meet  two  creatures,  more 
like  suits  of  black  than  men;  and  that  is  an  incident 
— a  startling  incident — ^in  our  existence!  " 

"I  think  they're  awful  fun,"  said  Jane,  "except 
that  Josephs  has  such  large  ears." 

The  girls  now  came  to  a  place  where  the  road  dipped 
through  a  plantation  of  sombre  sycamore  and  horse- 
chestnut  trees.  As  they  passed  down  into  it,  a  little 
wind  sprang  up,  the  fallen  leaves  stirred,  and  the 
branches  heaved  a  long,  rustling  sigh. 

"  I  hate  this  bit  of  road,"  said  Jane,  hurrying  on. 
"  It's  just  the  sort  of  place  that  people  get  robbed  and 
murdered  in." 

"  It  is  not  such  a  bad  place  to  shelter  in  if  we  get 
40 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

caught  in  the  rain,  as  I  expect  we  shall  before  we  get 
back/'  said  Agatha,  feeling  the  fitful  breeze  strike 
ominously  on  her  cheek.  "  A  nice  pickle  I  shall  be 
in  with  these  light  shoes  on!  I  wish  I  had  put  on  my 
strong  boots.  If  it  rains  much  I  will  go  into  the  old 
chalet." 

"  Miss  Wilson  won't  let  you.     It's  trespassing." 

*^  What  matter!  Nobody  lives  in  it,  and  the  gate 
is  off  its  hinges.  I  only  want  to  stand  under  the 
veranda — not  to  break  into  the  wretched  place.  Be- 
sides, the  landlord  knows  Miss  Wilson;  he  won't  mind. 
There's  a  drop." 

Miss  Carpenter  looked  up,  and  immediately  re- 
ceived a  heavy  raindrop  in  her  eye. 

"  Oh  !  "  she  cried.  "  It's  pouring  !  We  shall  be 
drenched." 

Agatha  stopped,  and  the  column  broke  into  a  group 
about  her. 

"  Miss  Wilson,"  she  said,  "  it  is  going  to  rain  in  tor- 
rents, and  Jane  and  I  have  only  our  shoes  on." 

Miss  Wilson  paused  to  consider  the  situation. 
Someone  suggested  that  if  they  hurried  on  they  might 
reach  Lyvern  before  the  rain  came  down. 

"  More  than  a  mile,"  said  Agatha  scornfully,  "  and 
the  rain  coming  down  already!  " 

Someone  else  suggested  returning  to  the  college. 

"  More  than  two  miles,"  said  Agatha.  "  We  should 
be  drowned." 

"  There  is  nothing  for  it  but  to  wait  here  under  the 
trees,"  said  Miss  Wilson. 

41 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

*^The  branches  are  very  bare,"  said  Gertrude 
anxiously.  "If  it  should  come  down  heavily  they 
will  drip  worse  than  the  rain  itself." 

"Much  worse/'  said  Agatha.  "I  think  we  had 
better  get  under  the  veranda  of  the  old  chalet.  It  is 
not  half  a  minute's  walk  from  here." 

"  But  we  have  no  right "  Here  the  sky  dark- 
ened threateningly.  Miss  Wilson  checked  herself  and 
said,  "  I  suppose  it  is  still  empty." 

"  Of  course,"  replied  Agatha,  impatient  to  be  mov- 
ing.    "  It  is  almost  a  ruin." 

"  Then  let  us  go  there,  by  all  means,"  said  Miss 
Wilson,  not  disposed  to  stand  on  trifles  at  the  risk  of 
a  bad  cold. 

They  hurried  on,  and  came  presently  to  a  green  hill 
by  the  wayside.  On  the  slope  was  a  dilapidated  Swiss 
cottage,  surrounded  by  a  veranda  on  slender  wooden 
pillars,  about  which  clung  a  few  tendrils  of  withered 
creeper,  their  stray  ends  still  swinging  from  the  recent 
wind,  now  momentarily  hushed  as  if  listening  for  the 
coming  of  the  rain.  Access  from  the  roadway  was  by 
a  rough  wooden  gate  in  the  hedge.  To  the  surprise 
of  Agatha,  who  had  last  seen  this  gate  off  its  hinges 
and  only  attached  to  the  post  by  a  rusty  chain  and 
padlock,  it  was  now  rehung  and  fastened  by  a  new 
hasp.  The  weather  admitting  of  no  delay  to  consider 
these  repairs,  she  opened  the  gate  and  hastened  up  the 
slope,  followed  by  the  troop  of  girls.  Their  ascent 
ended  with  a  rush,  for  the  rain  suddenly  came  down 
in  torrents. 

49 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

When  they  were  safe  under  the  veranda,  panting, 
laughing,  grumbling,  or  congratulating  themselves  on 
having  been  so  close  to  a  place  of  shelter.  Miss  Wilson 
observed,  with  some  uneasiness,  a  spade — new,  like 
the  hasp  of  the  gate — sticking  upright  in  a  patch  of 
ground  that  someone  had  evidently  been  digging 
lately.  She  was  about  to  comment  on  this  sign  of 
habitation,  when  the  door  of  the  chalet  was  flung 
open,  and  Jane  screamed  as  a  man  darted  out  to  the 
spade,  which  he  was  about  to  carry  in  out  of  the  wet, 
when  he  perceived  the  company  under  the  veranda, 
and  stood  still  in  amazement.  He  was  a  young  la- 
borer with  a  reddish-brown  beard  of  a  week's  growth. 
He  wore  corduroy  trousers  and  a  linen-sleeved  cor- 
duroy vest;  both,  like  the  hasp  and  spade,  new.  A 
coarse  blue  shirt,  with  a  vulgar  red-and-orange  neck- 
erchief, also  new,  completed  his  dress;  and,  to  shield 
himself  from  the  rain,  he  held  up  a  silk  umbrella  with 
a  silver-mounted  ebony  handle,  which  he  seemed  un- 
likely to  have  come  by  honestly.  Miss  Wilson  felt 
like  a  boy  caught  robbing  an  orchard,  but  she  put  a 
bold  face  on  the  matter  and  said: 

"  Will  you  allow  us  to  take  shelter  here  until  the 
rain  is  over?  " 

"  For  certain,  your  ladyship,"  he  replied,  respect- 
fully applying  the  spade  handle  to  his  hair,  which  was 
combed  down  to  his  eyebrows.  "  Your  ladyship  does 
me  proud  to  take  refuge  from  the  onclemency  of  the 
yallowments  beneath  my  'umble  rooftree."  His  ac- 
cent was  barbarous;  and  he,  like  a  low  comedian, 

43 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

seemed  to  relish  its  vulgarity.  As  he  spoke  he  came 
in  among  them  for  shelter,  and  propped  his  spade 
against  the  wall  of  the  chalet,  kicking  the  soil  from  his 
hobnailed  blucher  boots,  which  w^ere  new. 

"I  came  out,  honored  lady,"  he  resumed,  much 
at  his  ease,  "to  house  my  spade,  whereby  I  earn 
my  living.  What  the  pen  is  to  the  poet,  such 
is  the  spade  to  the  working  man."  He  took  the 
kerchief  from  his  neck,  wiped  his  temples  as  if  the 
sweat  of  honest  toil  were  there,  and  calmly  tied  it 
on  again. 

"  If  you'll  'scuse  a  remark  from  a  common  man,"  he 
observed,  "  your  ladyship  has  a  fine  family  of  daugh- 
ters." 

"  They  are  not  my  daughters,"  said  Miss  Wilson, 
rather  shortly. 

"Sisters,  mebbe?" 

"  No." 

"  I  thought  they  mout  be,  acause  I  have  a  sister  my- 
self. Not  that  I  would  make  bold  for  to  dror  com- 
parisons, even  in  my  own  mind,  for  she's  only  a  com- 
mon woman — as  common  a  one  as  ever  you  see.  But 
few  women  rise  above  the  common.  Last  Sunday,  in 
yon  village  church,  I  heard  the  minister  read  out  that 
one  man  in  a  thousand  had  he  found, '  but  one  woman 
in  all  these,'  he  says,  ^  have  I  not  found,'  and  I  thinks 
to  myself,  ^  Right  you  are! '  But  I  warrant  he  never 
met  your  ladyship." 

A  laugh,  thinly  disguised  as  a  cough,  escaped  from 
Miss  Carpenter. 

44 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"  Young  lady  a-ketchin'  cold,  I'm  af  eerd/'  he  said, 
with  respectful  solicitude. 

^^Do  you  think  the  rain  will  last  long?''  said  Agatha 
politely. 

The  man  examined  the  sky  with  a  weather-wise  air 
for  some  moments.  Then  he  turned  to  Agatha,  and 
replied  humbly:  "  The  Lord  only  knows,  Miss.  It  is 
not  for  a  common  man  like  me  to  say." 

Silence  ensued,  during  which  Agatha,  furtively 
scrutinizing  the  tenant  of  the  chalet,  noticed  that  his 
face  and  neck  were  cleaner  and  less  sunburnt  than 
those  of  the  ordinary  toilers  of  Lyvern.  His  hands 
were  hidden  by  large  gardening  gloves  stained  with 
coal  dust.  Lyvern  laborers,  as  a  rule,  had  little  objec- 
tion to  soil  their  hands;  they  never  wore  gloves.  Still, 
she  thought,  there  was  no  reason  why  an  eccentric 
workman,  insufferably  talkative,  and  capable  of  an 
allusion  to  the  pen  of  the  poet,  should  not  indulge 
himself  with  cheap  gloves.  But  then  the  silk,  silver- 
mounted  umbrella 

"  The  young  lady's  hi,"  he  said  suddenly,  holding 
out  the  umbrella,  "  is  fixed  on  this  here.  I  am  well 
aware  that  it  is  not  for  the  lowest  of  the  low  to  carry 
a  gentleman's  brolly,  and  I  ask  your  ladyship's  pardon 
for  the  liberty.  I  come  by  it  accidental-like,  and 
should  be  glad  of  a  reasonable  offer  from  any  gentle- 
man in  want  of  a  honest  article." 

As  he  spoke  two  gentlemen,  much  in  want  of  the 
article,  as  their  clinging  wet  coats  showed,  ran 
through  the  gateway  and  made  for  the  chalet.     Fair- 

45 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

holme  arrived  first,  exclaiming:  "  Fearful  shower! " 
and  briskly  turned  his  back  to  the  ladies  in  order  to 
stand  at  the  edge  of  the  veranda  and  shake  the  water 
out  of  his  hat.  Josephs  came  next,  shrinking  from 
the  damp  contact  of  his  own  garments.  He  cringed 
to  Miss  Wilson,  and  hoped  that  she  had  escaped  a 
wetting. 

"  So  far  I  have,"  she  replied.  "  The  question  is, 
how  are  we  to  get  home?  " 

"  Oh,  it's  only  a  shower,"  said  Josephs,  looking  up 
cheerfully  at  the  unbroken  curtain  of  cloud.  "  It  will 
clear  up  presently." 

"  It  ain't  for  a  common  man  to  set  up  his  opinion 
again'  a  gentleman  wot  have  profesh'nal  knowledge 
of  the  heavens,  as  one  may  say,"  said  the  man,  "  but 
I  would  'umbly  offer  to  bet  my  umbrellar  to  his  wide- 
awake that  it  don't  cease  raining  this  side  of  seven 
o'clock." 

"That  man  lives  here,"  whispered  Miss  Wilson, 
"  and  I  suppose  he  wants  to  get  rid  of  us." 

"  H'm!  "  said  Fairholme.  Then,  turning  to  the 
strange  laborer  with  the  air  of  a  person  not  to  be 
trifled  with,  he  raised  his  voice,  and  said:  "  You  live 
here,  do  5^ou,  my  man?  " 

"I  do,  sir,  by  your  good  leave,  if  I  may  make  so 
bold." 

"  What's  your  name  ?  " 

"  Jeff  Smilash,  sir,  at  your  service." 

"  Where  do  you  come  from?  " 

"  Brixtonbury,  sir." 

46 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

" Brixtonbury!     Where's  that?" 

"  Well,  sir,  I  don't  rightly  know.  If  a  gentleman 
like  you,  knowing  jography  and  such,  can't  tell,  how 
can  I?" 

*^  You  ought  to  know  where  you  were  born,  man. 
Haven't  you  got  common  sense?  " 

"  Where  could  such  a  one  as  me  get  common  sense, 
sir  ?  Besides,  I  was  only  a  foundling.  Mebbe  I 
warn't  born  at  all." 

"  Did  I  see  you  at  church  last  Sunday?  " 

"  No,  sir.     I  only  come  o^  Wensday." 

"Well,  let  me  see  you  there  next  Sunday,"  said 
Fairholme  shortly,  turning  away  from  him. 

Miss  Wilson  looked  at  the  weather,  at  Josephs,  wh(? 
was  conversing  with  Jane,  and  finally  at  Smilash,  who 
knuckled  his  forehead  without  waiting  to  be  ad- 
dressed. 

"  Have  you  a  boy  whom  you  can  send  to  Lyvem  to 
get  us  a  conveyance — a  carriage?  I  will  give  him  a 
shilling  for  his  trouble." 

"  A  shilling!  "  said  Smilash  joyfully.  "  Your  lady- 
ship is  a  noble  lady.  Two  four-wheeled  cabs.  There's 
eight  on  you." 

"  There  is  only  one  cab  in  Lyvem,"  said  Miss  Wil- 
son. "  Take  this  card  to  Mr.  Marsh,  the  jobmaster, 
and  tell  him  the  predicament  we  are  in.  He  will  send 
vehicles." 

Smilash  took  the  card  and  read  it  at  a  glance.  He 
then  went  into  the  chalet.  Eeappearing  presently  in 
a  sou'wester  and  oilskins,  he  ran  off  through  the  rain 

47 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

and  vaulted  over  the  gate  with  ridiculous  elegance. 
No  sooner  had  he  vanished  than,  as  often  happens  to 
remarkahle  men,  he  became  the  subject  of  conver- 
sation. 

"  A  decent  workman,"  said  Josephs.  "  A  well- 
mannered  man,  considering  his  class." 

"  A  born  fool,  though,"  said  Fairholme. 

"  Or  a  rogue,"  said  Agatha,  emphasizing  the  sug- 
gestion by  a  glitter  of  her  eyes  and  teeth,  whilst  her 
schoolfellows,  rather  disapproving  of  her  freedom, 
stood  stiffly  dumb.  "  He  told  Miss  "Wilson  that  he 
had  a  sister,  and  that  he  had  been  to  church  last  Sun- 
day, and  he  has  just  told  you  that  he  is  a  foundling, 
and  that  he  only  came  last  Wednesday.  His  accent 
is  put  on,  and  he  can  read,  and  I  donH  believe  he  is  a 
workman  at  all.  Perhaps  he  is  a  burglar,  come  down 
to  steal  the  college  plate." 

"  Agatha,"  said  Miss  Wilson  gravely,  "  you  must  be 
very  careful  how  you  say  things  of  that  kind." 

"  But  it  is  so  obvious.  His  explanation  about  the 
umbrella  was  made  up  to  disarm  suspicion.  He 
handled  it  and  leaned  on  it  in  a  way  that  showed  how 
much  more  familiar  it  was  to  him  than  that  new  spade 
he  was  so  anxious  about.  And  all  his  clothes  are 
new." 

"  True,"  said  Fairholme,  "  but  there  is  not  much  in 
all  that.  Workmen  nowadays  ape  gentlemen  in  every- 
thing.    However,  I  will  keep  an  eye  on  him." 

'^  Oh,  thank  you  so  much,"  said  Agatha. 

Fairholme,  suspecting  mockery,  frowned,  and  Miss 
48 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"Wilson  looked  severely  at  the  mocker.  Little  more 
was  said,  except  as  to  the  chances — manifestly  small 
— of  the  rain  ceasing,  until  the  tops  of  a  cab,  a  de- 
cayed mourning  coach,  and  three  dripping  hats  were 
seen  over  the  hedge.  Smilash  sat  on  the  box  of  the 
coach,  beside  the  driver.  When  it  stopped,  he 
alighted,  re-entered  the  chalet  without  speaking,  came 
out  with  the  umbrella,  spread  it  above  Miss  Wilson's 
head,  and  said: 

"  Now,  if  your  ladyship  will  come  with  me,  I  will 
see  you  dry  into  the  shay,  and  then  I'll  bring  your 
honored  nieces  one  by  one." 

"  I  shall  come  last,"  said  Miss  Wilson,  irritated  by 
his  assumption  that  the  party  was  a  family  one. 
"  Gertrude,  you  had  better  go  first." 

"  Allow  me,"  said  Fairholme,  stepping  forward,  and 
attempting  to  take  the  umbrella. 

"Thank  you,  I  shall  not  trouble  you,"  she  said 
frostily,  and  tripped  away  over  the  oozing  field  with 
Smilash,  who  held  the  umbrella  over  her  with  osten- 
tatious solicitude.  In  the  same  manner  he  led  the 
rest  to  the  vehicles,  in  which  they  packed  themselves 
with  some  difficulty.  Agatha,  who  came  last  but  one, 
gave  him  threepence. 

"  You  have  a  noble  'art  and  an  expressive  hi.  Miss," 
he  said,  apparently  much  moved.  "Blessings  on 
both!     Blessings  on  both!  " 

He  went  back  for  Jane,  who  slipped  on  the  wet 
grass  and  fell.  He  had  to  put  forth  his  strength  as 
he  helped  her  to  rise. 

4  49 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

'^  Hope  you  ain't  sopped  up  much  of  the  rainfall, 
Miss/'  he  said.  "  You  are  a  fine  young  lady  for  your 
age.     Nigh  on  twelve  stone,  I  should  think." 

She  reddened  and  hurried  to  the  cab,  where  Agatha 
was.  But  it  was  full;  and  Jane,  much  against  her 
will,  had  to  get  into  the  coach,  considerably  diminish- 
ing the  space  left  for  Miss  Wilson,  to  whom  Smilash 
had  returned. 

"  Now,  dear  lady,"  he  said,  "  take  care  you  don't 
slip.     Come  along." 

Miss  Wilson,  ignoring  the  invitation,  took  a  shilling 
from  her  purse. 

"  No,  lady,"  said  Smilash  with  a  virtuous  air.  "  I 
am  an  honest  man  and  have  never  seen  the  inside  of 
a  jail  except  four  times,  and  only  twice  for  stealing. 
Your  youngest  daughter — her  with  the  expressive  hi 
— have  paid  me  far  beyond  what  is  proper." 

"  I  have  told  you  that  these  young  ladies  are  not 
my  daughters,"  said  Miss  Wilson  sharply.  "  Why  do 
you  not  listen  to  what  is  said  to  you?  " 

"  Don't  be  too  hard  on  a  common  man,  lady,"  said 
Smilash  submissively.  "  The  young  lady  have  just 
given  me  three  'arf-crowns." 

"  Three  half-crowns!  "  exclaimed  Miss  Wilson,  an- 
gered at  such  extravagance. 

"Bless  her  innocence,  she  don't  know  what  is 
proper  to  give  to  a  low  sort  like  me!  But  I  will  not 
rob  the  young  lady.  'Arf-a-crown  is  no  more  nor  is 
fair  for  the  job,  and  arf-a-crown  will  I  keep,  if  agree- 
able to  your  noble  ladyship.     But  I  give  you  back  the 

50 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

five  bob  in  trust  for  her.     Have  you  ever  noticed  her 
expressive  hi?  " 

"  Nonsense,  sir.  You  had  better  keep  the  money 
now  that  you  have  got  it." 

'^  Wot!  Sell  for  five  bob  the  high  opinion  your 
ladyship  has  of  me!  No,  dear  lady;  not  likely.  My 
father's  very  last  words  to  me  was " 

"  You  said  just  now  that  you  were  a  foundling," 
said  Fairholme.     "  What  are  we  to  believe?    Eh?  " 

"  So  I  were,  sir;  but  by  mother's  side  alone.  Her 
ladyship  will  please  to  take  back  the  money,  for  keep 
it  I  will  not.  I  am  of  the  lower  orders,  and  therefore 
not  a  man  of  my  word;  but  when  I  do  stick  to  it,  I 
stick  like  wax." 

"  Take  it,"  said  Fairholme  to  Miss  Wilson.  "  Take 
it,  of  course.  Seven  and  sixpence  is  a  ridiculous  sum 
to  give  him  for  what  he  has  done.  It  would  only  set 
him  drinking." 

"His  reverence  says  true,  lady.  The  one  'arf- 
crown  will  keep  me  comfortably  tight  until  Sunday 
morning;  and  more  I  do  not  desire." 

"  Just  a  little  less  of  your  tongue,  my  man,"  said 
Fairholme,  taking  the  two  coins  from  him  and  hand- 
ing them  to  Miss  Wilson,  who  bade  the  clergymen 
good  afternoon,  and  went  to  the  coach  under  the 
umbrella. 

"If  your  ladyship  should  want  a  handy  man  to 
do  an  odd  job  up  at  the  college  I  hope  you  will 
remember  me,"  Smilash  said  as  they  went  down 
the  slope. 

51 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"  Oh,  you  know  who  I  am,  do  you?  "  said  Miss  Wil- 
son drily. 

"All  the  country  knows  you,  Miss,  and  worships 
you.  I  have  few  equals  as  a  coiner,  and  if  you  should 
require  a  medal  struck  to  give  away  for  good  behavior 
or  the  like,  I  think  I  could  strike  one  to  your  satisfac- 
tion. And  if  your  ladyship  should  want  a  trifle  of 
smuggled  lace " 

"  You  had  better  be  careful  or  you  will  get  into 
trouble,  I  think,"  said  Miss  Wilson  sternly.  "  Tell 
him  to  drive  on." 

The  vehicles  started,  and  Smilash  took  the  liberty 
of  waving  his  hat  after  them.  Then  he  returned  to 
the  chalet,  left  the  umbrella  within,  came  out  again, 
locked  the  door,  put  the  key  in  his  pocket,  and  walked 
off  through  the  rain  across  the  hill  without  taking  the 
least  notice  of  the  astonished  parsons. 

In  the  meantime  Miss  Wilson,  unable  to  contain  her 
annoyance  at  Agatha's  extravagance,  spoke  of  it  to 
the  girls  who  shared  the  coach  with  her.  But  Jane 
declared  that  Agatha  only  possessed  threepence  in  the 
world,  and  therefore  could  not  possibly  have  given 
the  man  thirty  times  that  sum.  When  they  reached 
the  college,  Agatha,  confronted  with  Miss  Wilson, 
opened  her  eyes  in  wonder,  and  exclaimed,  laughing: 
"  I  only  gave  him  threepence.  He  has  sent  me  a 
present  of  four  and  ninepence!  " 


52 


CHAPTER   IV 

Saturday  at  Alton  College,  nominally  a  half  holi- 
day, was  really  a  whole  one.  Classes  in  gymnastics, 
dancing,  elocution,  and  drawing  were  held  in  the 
morning.  The  afternoon  was  spent  at  lawn  tennis, 
to  which  lady  guests  resident  in  the  neighborhood 
were  allowed  to  bring  their  husbands,  brothers,  and 
fathers — Miss  Wilson  being  anxious  to  send  her  pupils 
forth  into  the  world  free  from  the  uncouth  stiffness 
of  schoolgirls  unaccustomed  to  society. 

Late  in  October  came  a  Saturday  which  proved 
anything  but  a  holiday  for  Miss  Wilson.  At  half -past 
one,  luncheon  being  over,  she  went  out  of  doors  to  a 
lawn  that  lay  between  the  southern  side  of  the  college 
and  a  shrubbery.  Here  she  found  a  group  of  girls 
watching  Agatha  and  Jane,  who  were  dragging  a 
roller  over  the  grass.  One  of  them,  tossing  a  ball 
about  with  her  racket,  happened  to  drive  it  into  the 
shrubbery,  whence,  to  the  surprise  of  the  company, 
Smilash  presently  emerged,  carrying  the  ball,  blink- 
ing, and  proclaiming  that,  though  a  common  man,  he 
had  his  feelings  like  another,  and  that  his  eye  was 
neither  a  stick  nor  a  stone.  He  was  dressed  as  before, 
but  his  garments,  soiled  with  clay  and  lime,  no  longer 
looked  new. 

53 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"What  brings  you  here,  pray?"  demanded  Miss 
Wilson. 

"I  was  led  into  the  belief  that  you  sent  for  me, 
lady,"  he  replied.  "  The  baker's  lad  told  me  so  as  he 
passed  my  'umble  cot  this  morning.  I  thought  he 
were  incapable  of  deceit." 

"  That  is  quite  right;  I  did  send  for  you.  But  why 
did  you  not  go  round  to  the  servants'  hall?  " 

"  I  am  at  present  in  search  of  it,  lady.  I  were  look- 
ing for  it  when  this  ball  cotch  me  here  "  (touching  his 
eye).  "A  cruel  blow  on  the  hi'  nat'rally  spiles  its 
vision  and  expression  and  makes  a  honest  man  look 
like  a  thief." 

"  Agatha,"  said  Miss  Wilson,  "  come  here." 

"  My  dooty  to  you.  Miss,"  said  Smilash,  pulling  his 
forelock. 

"  This  is  the  man  from  whom  I  had  the  five  shil- 
lings, which  he  said  you  had  just  given  him.  Did 
you  do  so?" 

"  Certainly  not.     I  only  gave  him  threepence." 

"  But  I  showed  the  money  to  your  ladyship,"  said 
Smilash,  twisting  his  hat  agitatedly.  "  I  gev  it  you. 
Where  would  the  like  of  me  get  five  shillings  except 
by  the  bounty  of  the  rich  and  noble?  If  the  young 
lady  thinks  I  hadn't  ort  to  have  kep'  the  tother  'arf- 
crown,  I  would  not  object  to  its  bein'  stopped  from 
my  wages  if  I  were  given  a  job  of  work  here. 
But " 

"  But  it's  nonsense,"  said  Agatha.  "  I  never  gave 
you  three  half-crowns." 

54 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"  Perhaps  you  mout  V  made  a  mistake.  Pence  is 
summat  similar  to  'arf -crowns,  and  the  day  were  very 
dark.'^ 

"  I  couldn't  have,"  said  Agatha.  "  Jane  had  my 
purse  all  the  earlier  part  of  the  week,  Miss  Wilson, 
and  she  can  tell  you  that  there  was  only  threepence 
in  it.  You  know  that  I  get  my  money  on  the  first  of 
every  month.  It  never  lasts  longer  than  a  week. 
The  idea  of  my  having  seven  and  sixpence  on  the  six- 
teenth is  ridiculous." 

"  But  I  put  it  to  you,  Miss,  ain't  it  twice  as  ridicu- 
lous for  me,  a  poor  laborer,  to  give  up  money  wot  I 
never  got?" 

Vague  alarm  crept  upon  Agatha  as  the  testimony 
of  her  senses  was  contradicted.  "  All  I  know  is,"  she 
protested,  "  that  I  did  not  give  it  to  you;  so  my  pen- 
nies must  have  turned  into  half-crowns  in  your 
pocket." 

"  Mebbe  so,"  said  Smilash  gravely.  "  I've  heard, 
and  I  know  it  for  a  fact,  that  money  grows  in  the 
pockets  of  the  rich.  Why  not  in  the  pockets  of  the 
poor  as  well?  Why  should  you  be  su'prised  at  wot 
'appens  every  day?  " 

"  Had  you  any  money  of  your  own  about  you  at  the 
time?" 

"Where  could  the  like  of  me  get  money? — asking 
pardon  for  making  so  bold  as  to  catechise  your  lady- 
ship." 

"  I  don't  know  where  you  could  get  it,"  said  Miss 
Wilson  testily j  "  I  ask  you,  had  you  any?  " 

55 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"Well,  lady,  I  disremember.  I  will  not  impose 
upon  you.     I  disremember/' 

"  Then  you've  made  a  mistake/'  said  Miss  Wil- 
son, handing  him  back  his  money.  "  Here.  If 
it  is  not  yours,  it  is  not  ours;  so  you  had  better  keep 
it." 

"  Keep  it!  Oh,  lady,  but  this  is  the  heighth  of 
nobility!  And  what  shall  I  do  to  earn  your  bounty, 
lady?" 

"  It  is  not  my  bounty:  I  give  it  to  you  because  it 
does  not  belong  to  me,  and,  I  suppose,  must  belong 
to  you.     You  seem  to  be  a  very  simple  man." 

"  I  thank  your  ladyship;  I  hope  I  am.  Respecting 
the  day's  work,  now,  lady;  was  you  thinking  of  em- 
ploying a  poor  man  at  all?  " 

"  No,  thank  you;  I  have  no  occasion  for  your  ser- 
vices. I  have  also  to  give  you  the  shilling  I  promised 
you  for  getting  the  cabs.     Here  it  is." 

"Another  shillin'!"  cried  Smilash,  stupefied. 

"Yes,"  said  Miss  Wilson,  beginning  to  feel  very 
angry.  "  Let  me  hear  no  more  about  it,  please. 
Don't  you  understand  that  you  have  earned  it?  " 

"I  am  a  common  man,  and  understand  next  to  noth- 
ing," he  replied  reverently.  "But  if  your  ladyship 
would  give  me  a  day's  work  to  keep  me  goin',  I  could 
put  up  all  this  money  in  a  little  wooden  savings  bank 
I  have  at  home,  and  keep  it  to  spend  when  sickness 
or  old  age  shall,  in  a  manner  of  speaking,  lay  their 
'ands  upon  me.  I  could  smooth  that  grass  beautiful; 
them  young  ladies  '11  strain  themselves  with  that 

66 


•  An  Unsocial  Socialist 

heavy  roller.  If  tennis  is  the  word,  I  can  put  up  nets 
fit  to  catch  birds  of  paradise  in.  If  the  courts  is  to  be 
chalked  out  in  white,  I  can  draw  a  line  so  straight  that 
you  could  hardly  keep  yourself  from  erectin'  an  equi- 
lateral triangle  on  it.  I  am  honest  when  well  watched, 
and  I  can  wait  at  table  equal  to  the  Lord  Mayor  o' 
London's  butler." 

"I  cannot  employ  you  without  a  character,"  said 
Miss  Wilson,  amused  by  his  scrap  of  Euclid,  and  won- 
dering where  he  had  picked  it  up. 

"  I  bear  the  best  of  characters,  lady.  The  reverend 
rector  has  known  me  from  a  boy." 

"  I  was  speaking  to  him  about  you  yesterday,"  said 
Miss  Wilson,  looking  hard  at  him,  "  and  he  says  you 
are  a  perfect  stranger  to  him." 

"  Gentlemen  is  so  forgetful,"  said  Smilash  sadly. 
"But  I  alluded  to  my  native  rector — meaning  the 
rector  of  my  native  village.  Auburn.  '  Sweet  Au- 
burn, loveliest  village  of  the  plain,'  as  the  gentleman 
called  it." 

"  That  was  not  the  name  you  mentioned  to  Mr. 
Fairholme.  I  do  not  recollect  what  name  you  gave, 
but  it  was  not  Auburn,  nor  have  I  ever  heard  of  any 
such  place." 

"  Never  read  of  sweet  Auburn!  " 

"  Not  in  any  geography  or  gazetteer.  Do  you  re- 
collect telling  me  that  you  have  been  in  prison?  " 

"Only  six  times,"  pleaded  Smilash,  his  features 
working  convulsively.  "  Don't  bear  too  hard  on  a 
common  man.     Only  six  times,  and  all  through  drink. 

57 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

But  I  have  took  the  pledge,  and  kep'  it  faithful  for 
eighteen  months  past.'^ 

Miss  Wilson  now  set  down  the  man  as  one  of  those 
keen,  half-witted  country  fellows,  contemptuously 
styled  originals,  who  unintentionally  make  themselves 
popular  by  flattering  the  sense  of  sanity  in  those  whose 
faculties  are  better  adapted  to  circumstances. 

"  You  have  a  bad  memory,  Mr.  Smilash,"  she  said 
good-humoredly.  "  You  never  give  the  same  account 
of  yourself  twice." 

"  I  am  well  aware  that  I  do  not  express  myself  with 
exactability.  Ladies  and  gentlemen  have  that  power 
over  word*  that  they  can  always  say  what  they  mean, 
but  a  common  man  like  me  can't.  Words  don't  come 
natural  to  him.  He  has  more  thoughts  than  words, 
and  what  words  he  has  don't  fit  his  thoughts.  Might 
I  take  a  turn  with  the  roller,  and  make  myself  useful 
about  the  place  until  nightfall,  for  ninepence  ?  " 

Miss  Wilson,  who  was  expecting  more  than  her  usual 
Saturday  visitors,  considered  the  proposition  and  as- 
sented. "  And  remember,"  she  said,  "  that  as  you 
are  a  stranger  here,  your  character  in  Lyvern  depends 
upon  the  use  you  make  of  this  opportunity." 

"  I  am  grateful  to  your  noble  ladyship.  May  your 
ladyship's  goodness  sew  up  the  hole  which  is  in  the 
pocket  where  I  carry  my  character,  and  which  has 
caused  me  to  lose  it  so  frequent.  It's  a  bad  place  for 
men  to  keep  their  characters  in  ;  but  such  is  the 
fashion.  And  so  hurray  for  the  glorious  nineteenth 
century! " 

58 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

He  took  off  his  coat,  seized  the  roller,  and  began  to 
pull  it  with  an  energy  foreign  to  the  measured  mill- 
horse  manner  of  the  accustomed  laborer.  Miss  Wil- 
son looked  doubtfully  at  him,  but,  being  in  haste, 
went  indoors  without  further  comment.  The  girls, 
mistrusting  his  eccentricity,  kept  aloof.  Agatha 
determined  to  have  another  and  better  look  at  him. 
Eacket  in  hand,  she  walked  slowly  across  the  grass  and 
came  close  to  him  just  as  he,  unaware  of  her  approach, 
uttered  a  groan  of  exhaustion  and  sat  down  to  rest. 

"  Tired  already,  Mr.  Smilash?  "  she  said  mockingly. 

He  looked  up  deliberately,  took  off  one  of  his  wash- 
leather  gloves,  fanned  himself  with  it,  displaying  a 
white  and  fine  hand,  and  at  last  replied,  in  the  tone 
and  with  the  accent  of  a  gentleman: 

"Very." 

Agatha  recoiled.  He  fanned  himself  without  the 
least  concern. 

"  You — you  are  not  a  laborer,"  she  said  at  last. 

"  Obviously  not." 

"  I  thought  not." 

He  nodded. 

"  Suppose  I  tell  on  you,"  she  said,  growing  bolder 
as  she  recollected  that  she  was  not  alone  with  him. 

"  If  you  do  I  shall  get  out  of  it  just  as  I  got  out  of 
the  half-crowns,  and  Miss  Wilson  will  begin  to  think 
that  you  are  mad." 

"  Then  I  really  did  not  give  you  the  seven  and  six- 
pence," she  said,  relieved. 

"  What  is  your  own  opinion?  "  he  answered,  taking 
59 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

three  pennies  from  his  pocket,  jingling  them  in  his 
palm.     "  What  is  your  name  ?  " 

"  I  shall  not  tell  you/'  said  Agatha  with  dignity. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Perhaps  you  are 
right/'  he  said.  "  I  would  not  tell  you  mine  if  you 
asked  me." 

"I  have  not  the  slightst  intention  of  asking 
you." 

"  No?  Then  Smilash  shall  do  for  you,  and  Agatha 
will  do  for  me." 

"You  had  better  take  care." 

"Of  what?" 

"  Of  what  you  ^ay,  and — are  you  not  afraid  of  being 
found  out?" 

"  I  am  found  out  already — by  you,  and  I  am  none 
the  worse." 

"  Suppose  the  police  find  you  out!  " 

"Not  they.  Besides,  I  am  not  hiding  from  the 
police.  I  have  a  right  to  wear  corduroy  if  I  prefer  it 
to  broadcloth.  Consider  the  advantages  of  it!  It  has 
procured  me  admission  to  Alton  College,  and  the 
pleasure  of  your  acquaintance.  Will  you  excuse  me 
if  I  go  on  with  my  rolling,  just  to  keep  up  appear- 
ances?    I  can  talk  as  I  roll." 

"You  may,  if  you  are  fond  of  soliloquizing,"  she 
said,  turning  away  as  he  rose. 

"  Seriously,  Agatha,  you  must  not  tell  the  others 
about  me." 

"  Do  not  call  me  Agatha,"  she  said  impetuously. 

"  What  shall  I  call  you,  then?  " 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"  You  need  not  address  me  at  all." 

"  I  need,  and  will.     Don't  be  ill-natured.'^ 

"  But  I  don't  know  you.  I  wonder  at  your — "  she 
hesitated  at  the  word  which  occurred  to  her,  but, 
being  unable  to  think  of  a  better  one,  used  it — "at 
your  cheek." 

He  laughed,  and  she  watched  him  take  a  couple  of 
turns  with  the  roller.  Presently,  refreshing  himself 
by  a  look  at  her,  he  caught  her  looking  at  him,  and 
smiled.  His  smile  was  commonplace  in  comparison 
with  the  one  she  gave  him  in  return,  in  which  her 
eyes,  her  teeth,  and  the  golden  grain  in  her  com- 
plexion seemed  to  flash  simultaneously.  He  stopped 
rolling  immediately,  and  rested  his  chin  on  the  handle 
of  the  roller. 

"  If  you  neglect  your  work,"  said  she  maliciously, 
"you  won't  have  the  grass  ready  when  the  people 
come." 

"  What  people?  "  he  said,  taken  aback. 

"  Oh,  lots  of  people.  Most  likely  some  who  know 
you.  There  are  visitors  coming  from  London:  my 
guardian,  my  guardianess,  their  daughter,  my  mother, 
and  about  a  hundred  more." 

"  Four  in  all.  What  are  they  coming  for?  To  see 
you?  " 

"  To  take  me  away,"  she  replied,  watching  for  signs 
of  disappointment  on  his  part. 

They  were  at  once  forthcoming.  "  What  the  deuce 
are  they  going  to  take  you  away  for?  "  he  said.  "  Is 
your  education  finished?" 

61  V 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

**No.  I  have  behaved  badly,  and  I  am  going  to 
be  expelled." 

He  laughed  again.  "Come!''  he  said,  "you  are 
beginning  to  invent  in  the  Smilash  manner.  What 
have  you  done?" 

"I  don't  see  why  I  should  tell  you.  What  have 
you  done  ?  " 

"  I!  Oh,  I  have  done  nothing.  I  am  only  an  un- 
romantic  gentleman,  hiding  from  a  romantic  lady 
who  is  in  love  with  me." 

"  Poor  thing,"  said  Agatha  sarcastically.  "  Of 
course,  she  has  proposed  to  you,  and  you  have 
refused." 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  proposed,  and  she  accepted. 
That  is  why  I  have  to  hide." 

"  You  tell  stories  charmingly,"  said  Agatha. 
"  Good-bye.  Here  is  Miss  Carpenter  coming  to  hear 
what  we  are  taking  about." 

"  Good-bye.      That  story  of  your  being  expelled 

beats Might  a  common  man  make  so  bold  as  to 

inquire  where  the  whitening  machine  is.  Miss?  " 

This  was  addressed  to  Jane,  who  had  come  up  with 
some  of  the  others.  Agatha  expected  to  see  Smilash 
presently  discovered,  for  his  disguise  now  seemed 
transparent;  she  wondered  how  the  rest  could  be  im- 
posed on  by  it.  Two  o'clock,  striking  just  then,  re- 
minded her  of  the  impending  interview  with  her 
guardian.  A  tremor  shook  her,  and  she  felt  a  craving 
for  some  solitary  hiding-place  in  which  to  await  the 
summons.     But  it  was  a  point  of  honor  with  her  to 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

appear  perfectly  indifferent  to  her  trouble,  so  she 
stayed  with  the  girls,  laughing  and  chatting  as  they 
watched  Smilash  intently  marking  out  the  courts 
and  setting  up  the  nets.  She  made  the  others  laugh 
too,  for  her  hidden  excitement,  sharpened  by  irrepres- 
sible shootings  of  dread,  stimulated  her,  and  the  ro- 
mance of  Smilash's  disguise  gave  her  a  sensation  of 
dreaming.  Her  imagination  was  already  busy  upon 
a  drama,  of  which  she  was  the  heroine  and  Smilash 
the  hero,  though,  with  the  real  man  before  her,  she 
could  not  indulge  herself  by  attributing  to  him  quite 
as  much  gloomy  grandeur  of  character  as  to  a  wholly 
ideal  personage.  The  plot  was  simple,  and  an  old 
favorite  with  her.  One  of  them  was  to  love  the  other 
and  to  die  broken-hearted  because  the  loved  one 
would  not  requite  the  passion.  For  Agatha,  prompt 
to  ridicule  sentimentality  in  her  companions,  and 
gifted  with  an  infectious  spirit  of  farce,  secretly 
turned  for  imaginative  luxury  to  visions  of  despair 
and  death;  and  often  endured  the  mortification  of 
the  successful  clown  who  believes,  whilst  the  public 
roar  with  laughter  at  him,  that  he  was  born  a  trage- 
dian. There  was  much  in  her  nature,  she  felt,  that 
did  not  find  expression  in  her  popular  representation 
of  the  soldier  in  the  chimney. 

By  three  o'clock  the  local  visitors  had  arrived,  and 
tennis  was  proceeding  in  four  courts,  rolled  and  pre- 
pared by  Smilash.  The  two  curates  were  there,  with 
a  few  lay  gentlemen.  Mrs.  Miller,  the  vicar,  and 
some  mothers  and  other  chaperons  looked  on  and 

63 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

consumed  light  refreshments,  which  were  brought 
out  upon  trays  by  Smilash,  who  had  borrowed  and 
put  on  a  large  white  apron,  and  was  making  himself 
officiously  busy. 

At  a  quarter  past  the  hour  a  message  came  from 
Miss  Wilson,  requesting  Miss  Wylie's  attendance. 
The  visitors  were  at  a  loss  to  account  for  the  sudden 
distraction  of  the  young  ladies'  attention  which  en- 
sued. Jane  almost  burst  into  tears,  and  answered 
Josephs  rudely  when  he  innocently  asked  what  the 
matter  was.  Agatha  went  away  apparently  uncon- 
cerned, though  her  hand  shook  as  she  put  aside  her 
racket. 

In  a  spacious  drawing-room  at  the  north  side  of  the 
college  she  found  her  mother,  a  slight  woman  in 
widow's  weeds,  with  faded  brown  hair,  and  tearful 
eyes.  With  her  were  Mrs.  Jansenius  and  her  daughter. 
The  two  elder  ladies  kept  severely  silent  whilst 
Agatha  kissed  them,  and  Mrs.  Wylie  sniffed.  Hen- 
rietta embraced  Agatha  effusively. 

"  Where's  Uncle  John  ?  "  said  Agatha.  "  Hasn't  he 
come?" 

"  He  is  in  the  next  room  with  Miss  Wilson,"  said 
Mrs.  Jansenius  coldly.     "  They  want  you  in  there." 

"I  thought  somebody  was  dead,"  said  Agatha, 
"  you  all  look  so  funereal.  Now,  mamma,  put  your 
handkerchief  back  again.  If  you  cry  I  will  give  Miss 
Wilson  a  piece  of  my  mind  for  worrying  you." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Mrs.  Wylie,  alarmed.  "  She  has 
been  so  nice! " 

64 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"  So  good!  ^'  said  Henrietta. 

"  She  has  been  perfectly  reasonable  and  kind/' 
said  Mrs.  Jansenius. 

"  She  always  is/'  said  Agatha  complacently. 
"You  didn't  expect  to  find  her  in  hysterics,  did 
you?" 

"Agatha/'  pleaded  Mrs.  Wylie,  "don't  be  head- 
strong and  foolish." 

"  Oh,  she  won't;  I  know  she  won't/'  said  Henri- 
etta coaxingly.     "  Will  you,  dear  Agatha?  " 

"You  may  do  as  you  like,  as  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned," said  Mrs.  Jansenius.  "  But  I  hope  you  have 
more  sense  than  to  throw  away  your  education  for 
nothing." 

"Your  aunt  is  quite  right/'  said  Mrs.  Wylie. 
"  And  your  Uncle  John  is  very  angry  with  you.  He 
will  never  speak  to  you  again  if  you  quarrel  with  Miss 
Wilson." 

"  He  is  not  angry,"  said  Henrietta,  "  but  he  is  so 
anxious  that  you  should  get  on  well." 

"He  will  naturally  be  disappointed  if  you  persist 
in  making  a  fool  of  yourself,"  said  Mrs.  Jansenius. 

"All  Miss  Wilson  wants  is  an  apology  for  the 
dreadful  things  you  wrote  in  her  book,"  said  Mrs. 
Wylie.     "You'll  apologize,  dear,  won't  you?" 

"  Of  course  she  will,"  said  Henrietta. 

"  I  think  you  had  better,"  said  Mrs.  Jansenius. 

"  Perhaps  I  will,"  said  Agatha. 

"  That's  my  own  darling,"  said  Mrs.  Wylie,  catch- 
ing her  hand. 

5  65 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"  And  perhaps,  again,  I  won't." 

"  You  will,  dear/'  urged  Mrs.  Wylie,  trying  to  draw 
Agatha,  who  passively  resisted,  closer  to  her.  "  For 
my  sake.  To  oblige  your  mother,  Agatha.  You 
won't  refuse  me,  dearest?  " 

Agatha  laughed  indulgently  at  her  parent,  who  had 
long  ago  worn  out  this  form  of  appeal.  Then  she 
turned  to  Henrietta,  and  said,  "  How  is  your  caro 
sposo?  I  think  it  was  hard  that  I  was  not  a  brides- 
maid." 

The  red  in  Henrietta's  cheeks  brightened.  Mrs. 
Jansenius  hastened  to  interpose  a  dry  reminder  that 
Miss  Wilson  was  waiting. 

"Oh,  she  does  not  mind  waiting,"  said  Agatha, 
"because  she  thinks  you  are  all  at  work  getting  me 
into  a  proper  frame  of  mind.  That  was  the  arrange- 
ment she  made  with  you  before  she  left  the  room. 
Mamma  knows  that  I  have  a  little  bird  that  tells  me 
these  things.  I  must  say  that  you  have  not  made 
me  feel  any  goody-goodier  so  far.  However,  as  poor 
Uncle  John  must  be  dreadfully  frightened  and  un- 
comfortable, it  is  only  kind  to  put  an  end  to  his  sus- 
pense. Good-bye! "  And  she  went  out  leisurely. 
But  she  looked  in  again  to  say  in  a  low  voice:  "  Pre- 
pare for  something  thrilling.  I  feel  just  in  the  hu- 
mor to  say  the  most  awful  things."  She  vanished, 
and  immediately  they  heard  her  tapping  at  the  door 
of  the  next  room. 

Mr.  Jansenius  was  indeed  awaiting  her  with  mis- 
giving.    Having  discovered  early  in  his  career  that 

66 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

his  dignified  person  and  fine  voice  caused  people  to 
stand  in  some  awe  of  him,  and  to  move  him  into  the 
chair  at  public  meetings,  he  had  grown  so  accustomed 
to  deference  that  any  approach  to  familiarity  or  ir- 
reverence disconcerted  him  exceedingly.  Agatha,  on 
the  other  hand,  having  from  her  childhood  heard 
Uncle  John  quoted  as  wisdom  and  authority  incar- 
nate, had  begun  in  her  tender  years  to  scoff  at  him  as 
a  pompous  and  purseproud  city  merchant,  whose  sor- 
did mind  was  unable  to  cope  with  her  transcendental 
affairs.  She  had  habitually  terrified  her  mother  by 
ridiculing  him  with  an  absolute  contempt  of  which 
only  childhood  and  extreme  ignorance  are  capable. 
She  had  felt  humiliated  by  his  kindness  to  her  (he 
was  a  generous  giver  of  presents),  and,  with  the  in- 
stinct of  an  anarchist,  had  taken  disparagement  of 
his  advice  and  defiance  of  his  authority  as  the  signs 
wherefrom  she  might  infer  surely  that  her  face  was 
turned  to  the  light.  The  result  was  that  he  was  a 
little  tfraid  of  her  without  being  quite  conscious  of 
it;  and  she  not  at  all  afraid  of  him,  and  a  little  too 
conscious  of  it. 

When  she  entered  with  her  brightest  smile  in  full 
play,  Miss  Wilson  and  Mr.  Jansenius,  seated  at  the 
table,  looked  somewhat  like  two  culprits  about  to  be 
indicted.  Miss  Wilson  waited  for  him  to  speak,  de- 
ferring to  his  imposing  presence.  But  he  was  not 
ready,  so  she  invited  Agatha  to  sit  down. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Agatha  sweetly.  "  Well,  Uncle 
John,  don't  you  know  me?  " 

67 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"  I  have  heard  with  regret  from  Miss  Wilson  that 
you  have  been  very  troublesome  here/'  he  said,  ignor- 
ing her  remark,  though  secretly  put  out  by  it. 

"Yes,'^  said  Agatha  contritely.  "I  am  so  very 
sorry." 

Mr.  Jansenius,  who  had  been  led  by  Miss  Wilson  to 
expect  the  utmost  contumacy,  looked  to  her  in  sur- 
prise. 

"  You  seem  to  think,"  said  Miss  Wilson,  conscious 
of  Mr.  Jansenius's  movement,  and  annoyed  by  it, 
"that  you  may  transgress  over  and  over  again,  and 
then  set  yourself  right  with  us  "  (Miss  Wilson  never 
spoke  of  offences  as  against  her  individual  authority, 
but  as  against  the  school  community)  "  by  saying  that 
you  are  sorry.  You  spoke  in  a  very  different  tone 
at  our  last  meeting." 

"  I  was  angry  then.  Miss  Wilson.  And  I  thought 
I  had  a  grievance — everybody  thinks  they  have  the 
same  one.  Besides,  we  were  quarrelling — at  least  I 
was;  and  I  always  behave  badly  when  I  quarrel.  I 
am  so  very  sorry." 

"  The  book  was  a  serious  matter,"  said  Miss  Wilson 
gravely.     "  You  do  not  seem  to  think  so." 

"  I  understand  Agatha  to  say  that  she  is  now  sen- 
sible of  the  folly  of  her  conduct  with  regard  to  the 
book,  and  that  she  is  sorry  for  it,"  said  Mr.  Jansenius, 
instinctively  inclining  to  Agatha's  party  as  the 
stronger  one  and  the  least  dependent  on  him  in  a 
pecuniary  sense. 

"Have  you  seen  the  book?"  said  Agatha  eagerly. 
68 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"No.  Miss  Wilson  has  described  what  has  oc- 
curred/' 

"  Oh,  do  let  me  get  it/'  she  cried,  rising.  "  It  will 
make  Uncle  John  scream  with  laughing.  May  I, 
Miss  Wilson?" 

"There!"  said  Miss  Wilson,  indignantly.  "It  is 
this  incorrigible  flippancy  of  which  I  have  to  com- 
plain. Miss  Wylie  only  varies  it  by  downright  in- 
subordination." 

Mr.  Jansenius  too  was  scandalized.  His  fine  color 
mounted  at  the  idea  of  his  screaming.  "  Tut,  tut!  " 
he  said,  "you  must  be  serious,  and  more  respectful 
to  Miss  Wilson.  You  are  old  enough  to  know  better 
now,  Agatha — quite  old  enough." 

Agatha's  mirth  vanished.  "  What  have  I  said  ? 
What  have  I  done?"  she  asked,  a  faint  purple  spot 
appearing  in  her  cheeks. 

"  You  have  spoken  triflingly  of — of  the  volume  by 
which  Miss  Wilson  sets  great  store,  and  property  so." 

"  If  property  so,  then  why  do  you  find  fault  with 
me?" 

"  Come,  come,"  roared  Mr.  Jansenius,  deliberately 
losing  his  temper  as  a  last  expedient  to  subdue  her, 
"  don't  be  impertinent.  Miss." 

Agatha's  eyes  dilated;  evanescent  flushes  played 
upon  her  cheeks  and  neck;  she  stamped  with  her  heel. 
"  Uncle  John,"  she  cried,  "  if  you  dare  to  address  me 
like  that,  I  will  never  look  at  you,  never  speak  to  you, 
nor  ever  enter  your  house  again.  What  do  you 
know  about  good  manners,  that  you  should  call  me 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

impertinent?  I  will  not  submit  to  intentional  rude- 
ness; that  was  the  beginning  of  my  quarrel  with  Miss 
Wilson.  She  told  me  I  was  impertinent,  and  I  went 
away  and  told  her  that  she  was  wrong  by  writing  it 
in  the  fault  book.  She  has  been  wrong  all  through, 
and  I  would  have  said  so  before  but  that  I  wanted 
to  be  reconciled  to  her  and  to  let  bygones  be  by- 
gones. But  if  she  insists  on  quarrelling,  I  cannot 
help  it." 

"  I  have  already  explained  to  you,  Mr.  Jansenius," 
said  Miss  Wilson,  concentrating  her  resentment  by 
an  effort  to  suppress  it,  "  that  Miss  Wylie  has  ignored 
all  the  opportunities  that  have  been  made  for  her  to 
reinstate  herself  here.  Mrs.  Miller  and  I  have  waived 
merely  personal  considerations,  and  I  have  only  re- 
quired a  simple  acknowledgment  of  this  offence 
against  the  college  and  its  rules." 

"  I  do  not  care  that  for  Mrs.  Miller,"  said  Agatha, 
snapping  her  fingers.  "  And  you  are  not  half  so  good 
as  I  thought." 

"  Agatha,"  said  Mr.  Jansenius,  "  I  desire  you  to 
hold  your  tongue." 

Agatha  drew  a  deep  breath,  sat  down  resignedly, 
and  said:  "  There!  I  have  done.  I  have  lost  my  tem- 
per; so  now  we  have  all  lost  our  tempers." 

"  You  have  no  right  to  lose  your  temper.  Miss," 
said  Mr.  Jansenius,  following  up  a  fancied  advantage. 

"  I  am  the  youngest,  and  the  least  to  blame,"  she 
replied. 

"  There  is  nothing  further  to  be  said,  Mr.  Jan- 
70 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

senius/'  said  Miss  Wilson,  determinedly.  "I  am 
sorry  that  Miss  Wylie  has  chosen  to  break  with  us/' 

"  But  I  have  not  chosen  to  break  with  you,  and  I 
think  it  very  hard  that  I  am  to  be  sent  away.  No- 
body here  has  the  least  quarrel  with  me  except  you 
and  Mrs.  Miller.  Mrs.  Miller  is  annoyed  because  she 
mistook  me  for  her  cat,  as  if  that  was  my  fault!  And 
really.  Miss  Wilson,  I  don't  know  why  you  are  so 
angry.  All  the  girls  will  think  I  have  done  some- 
thing infamous  if  I  am  expelled.  I  ought  to  be  let 
stay  until  the  end  of  the  term;  and  as  to  the  Eec — the 
fault  book,  you  told  me  most  particularly  when  I  first 
came  that  I  might  write  in  it  or  not  Just  as  I  pleased, 
and  that  you  never  dictated  or  interfered  with  what 
was  written.  And  yet  the  very  first  time  I  write  a 
word  you  disapprove  of,  you  expel  me.  Nobody  will 
ever  believe  now  that  the  entries  are  voluntary." 

Miss  Wilson's  conscience,  already  smitten  by  the 
coarseness  and  absence  of  moral  force  in  the  echo  of 
her  own  "  You  are  impertinent,"  from  the  mouth  of 
Mr.  Jansenius,  took  fresh  alarm.  "  The  fault  book," 
she  said,  "is  for  the  purpose  of  recording  self- 
reproach  alone,  and  is  not  a  vehicle  for  accusations 
against  others." 

"  I  am  quite  sure  that  neither  Jane  nor  Gertrude 
nor  I  reproached  ourselves  in  the  least  for  going 
downstairs  as  we  did,  and  yet  you  did  not  blame  us 
for  entering  that.  Besides,  the  book  represented 
moral  force — at  least  you  always  said  so;  and  when 
you  gave  up  moral  force,  I  thought  an  entry  should 

71 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

be  made  of  that.  Of  course  I  was  in  a  rage  at  the 
time,  but  when  I  came  to  myself  I  thought  I  had  done 
right,  and  I  think  so  still,  though  it  would  perhaps 
have  been  better  to  have  passed  it  over." 

"  Why  do  you  say  that  I  gave  up  moral  force?  " 

"  Telling  people  to  leave  the  room  is  not  moral 
force.  Calling  them  impertinent  is  not  moral 
force." 

"You  think  then  that  I  am  bound  to  listen  pa- 
tiently to  whatever  you  choose  to  say  to  me,  however 
unbecoming  it  may  be  from  one  in  your  position  to 
one  in  mine?" 

"  But  I  said  nothing  unbecoming,"  said  Agatha. 
Then,  breaking  off  restlessly,  and  smiling  again,  she 
said:  "  Oh,  don't  let  us  argue.  I  am  very  sorry,  and 
very  troublesome,  and  very  fond  of  you  and  of  the 
college;  and  I  won't  come  back  next  term  unless  you 
like." 

"Agatha,"  said  Miss  Wilson,  shaken,  "these  ex- 
pressions of  regard  cost  you  so  little,  and  when  they 
have  effected  their  purpose,  are  so  soon  forgotten  hy 
you,  that  they  have  ceased  to  satisfy  me.  I  am  very 
reluctant  to  insist  on  your  leaving  us  at  once.  But 
as  your  uncle  has  told  you,  you  are  old  and  sensible 
enough  to  know  the  difference  between  order  and 
disorder.  Hitherto  you  have  been  on  the  side  of  dis- 
order, an  element  which  was  hardly  known  here  until 
you  came,  as  Mrs.  Trefusis  can  tell  you.  Neverthe- 
less, if  you  will  promise  to  be  more  careful  in  future, 
I  will  waive  all  past  cause  of  complaint,  and  at  the 

73 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

end  of  the  term  I  shall  he  ahle  to  judge  as  to  your 
continuing  among  us." 

Agatha  rose,  heaming.  "Dear  Miss  Wilson,"  she 
said,  "  you  are  so  good!  I  promise,  of  course.  I  will 
go  and  tell  mamma." 

Before  they  could  add  a  word  she  had  turned  with 
a  pirouette  to  the  door,  and  fled,  presenting  herself  a 
moment  later  in  the  drawing-room  to  the  three  ladies, 
whom  she  surveyed  with  a  whimsical  smile  in  silence. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Jansenius  peremptorily. 

"Well,  dear?"  said  Mrs.  Trefusis,  caressingly. 

Mrs.  Wylie  stifled  a  sob  and  looked  imploringly  at 
her  daughter. 

"I  had  no  end  of  trouble  in  bringing  them  to 
reason,"  said  Agatha,  after  a  provoking  pause. 
"  They  behaved  like  children,  and  I  was  like  an 
angel.     I  am  to  stay,  of  course." 

"Blessings  on  you,  my  darling,"  faltered  Mrs. 
Wylie,  attempting  a  kiss,  which  Agatha  dexterously 
evaded. 

"I  have  promised  to  be  very  good,  and  studious,  and 
quiet,  and  decorous  in  future.  Do  you  remember  my 
Castanet  song,  Hetty? 

« '  Tra!  lalala,  la!  la!  la! 
Tra!  lalala,  la!  la!  la! 
Tra!  lalalalalalalalalalala! ' " 

And  she  danced  about  the  room,  snapping  her  fin- 
gers instead  of  castanets. 

73 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"Don't  be  so  reckless  and  wicked,  my  love,"  said 
Mrs.  Wylie.  "  You  will  break  your  poor  mother's 
heart." 

Miss  Wilson  and  Mr.  Jansenius  entered  just  then, 
and  Agatha  became  motionless  and  gazed  abstract- 
edly at  a  vase  of  flowers.  Miss  Wilson  invited  her 
visitors  to  join  the  tennis  players.  Mr.  Jansenius 
looked  sternly  and  disappointedly  at  Agatha,  who 
elevated  her  left  eyebrow  and  depressed  her  right 
simultaneously;  but  he,  shaking  his  head  to  signify 
that  he  was  not  to  be  conciliated  by  facial  feats,  how- 
ever difficult  or  contrary  to  nature,  went  out  with 
Miss  Wilson,  followed  by  Mrs.  Jansenius  and  Mrs. 
Wylie. 

"How  is  your  Hubby?"  said  Agatha  then, 
brusquely,  to  Henrietta. 

Mrs.  Trefusis's  eyes  filled  with  tears  so  quickly  that, 
as  she  bent  her  head  to  hide  them,  they  fell,  sprin- 
kling Agatha's  hand. 

"  This  is  such  a  dear  old  place,"  she  began.  "  The 
associations  of  my  girlhood •" 

"What  is  the  matter  between  you  and  Hubby?" 
demanded  Agatha,  interrupting  her.  "  You  had 
better  tell  me,  or  I  will  ask  him  when  I  meet  him." 

"  I  was  about  to  tell  you,  only  you  did  not  give  me 
time." 

"  That  is  a  most  awful  cram,"  said  Agatha.  "  But 
no  matter.     Go  on." 

Henrietta  hesitated.  Her  dignity  as  a  married 
woman,  and  the  reality  of  her  grief,  revolted  against 

74 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

ttie  shallow  acuteness  of  the  schoolgirl.  But  she 
found  herself  no  better  able  to  resist  Agatha's  domi- 
neering than  she  had  been  in  her  childhood,  and 
much  more  desirous  of  obtaining  her  sympathy.  Be- 
sides, she  had  already  learnt  to  tell  the  story  herself 
rather  than  leave  its  narration  to  others,  whose  ac- 
counts did  not,  she  felt,  put  her  case  in  the  proper 
light.  So  she  told  Agatha  of  her  marriage,  her 
wild  love  for  her  husband,  his  wild  love  for  her, 
and  his  mysterious  disappearance  without  leaving 
word  or  sign  behind  him.  She  did  not  mention 
the  letter. 

"  Have  you  had  him  searched  for?  "  said  Agatha, 
repressing  an  inclination  to  laugh. 

"But  where?  Had  I  the  remotest  clue,  I  would 
follow  him  barefoot  to  the  end  of  the  world." 

"I  think  you  ought  to  search  all  the  rivers — ^you 
would  have  to  do  that  barefoot.  He  must  have  fallen 
in  somewhere,  or  fallen  down  some  place." 

"  Xo,  no.  Do  you  think  I  should  be  here  if  I 
thought  his  life  in  danger?  I  have  reasons — I  know 
that  he  is  only  gone  away." 

"  Oh,  indeed!  He  took  his  portmanteau  with  him, 
did  he?  Perhaps  he  has  gone  to  Paris  to  buy  you 
something  nice  and  give  you  a  pleasant  surprise." 

"  No,"  said  Henrietta  dejectedly.  "  He  knew  that 
I  wanted  nothing." 

"  Then  I  suppose  he  got  tired  of  you  and  ran  away." 

Henrietta's  peculiar  scarlet  blush  flowed  rapidly 
over  her  cheeks  as  Fhe  flung  Agatha's  arm  away,  ex- 

75 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

claiming,  "How  dare  you  say  so!  You  have  no 
heart.     He  adored  me." 

"Bosh!"  said  Agatha.  "People  always  grow 
tired  of  one  another.  I  grow  tired  of  myself  when- 
ever I  am  left  alone  for  ten  minutes,  and  I  am  certain 
that  I  am  fonder  of  myself  than  anyone  can  be  of 
another  person." 

"  I  know  you  are/'  said  Henrietta,  pained  and  spite- 
ful. "  You  have  always  been  particularly  fond  of 
yourself." 

"  Very  likely  he  resembles  me  in  that  resj|fect.  In 
that  case  he  will  grow  tired  of  himself  and  come  back, 
and  you  will  both  coo  like  turtle  doves  until  he  runs 
away  again.  Ugh!  Serve  you  right  for  getting  mar- 
ried. I  wonder  how  people  can  be  so  mad  as  to  do  it, 
with  the  example  of  their  married  acquaintances  all 
warning  them  against  it." 

"  You  don't  know  what  it  is  to  love,"  said  Henri- 
etta, plaintively,  and  yet  patronizingly.  "Besides, 
we  were  not  like  other  couples." 

"  So  it  seems.  But  never  mind,  take  my  word  for 
it,  he  will  return  to  you  as  soon  as  he  has  had  enough 
of  his  own  company.  Don't  worry  thinking  about 
him,  but  come  and  have  a  game  at  lawn  tennis." 

During  this  conversation  they  had  left  the  draw- 
ing-room and  made  a  detour  through  the  grounds. 
They  were  now  approaching  the  tennis  courts  by  a 
path  which  wound  between  two  laurel  hedges  through 
the  shrubbery. 

Meanwhile,  Smilash,  waiting  on  the  guests  in  his 
76 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

white  apron  and  gloves  (which  he  had  positively  re- 
fused to  take  off,  alleging  that  he  was  a  common  man, 
with  common  hands  such  as  born  ladies  and  gentle- 
men could  not  be  expected  to  take  meat  and  drink 
from),  had  behaved  himself  irreproachably  until  the 
arrival  of  Miss  Wilson  and  her  visitors,  which  oc- 
curred as  he  was  returning  to  the  table  with  an  empty 
tray,  moving  so  swiftly  that  he  nearly  came  into  col- 
lision with  Mrs.  Jansenius.  Instead  of  apologizing, 
he  changed  countenance,  hastily  held  up  the  tray  like 
a  shield  before  his  face,  and  began  to  walk  backward 
from  her,  stumbling  presently  against  Miss  Lindsay, 
who  was  running  to  return  a  ball.  Without  heeding 
her  angry  look  and  curt  rebuke,  he  half  turned,  and 
sidled  away  into  the  shrubbery,  whence  the  tray  pres- 
ently rose  into  the  air,  flew  across  the  laurel  hedge, 
and  descended  with  a  peal  of  stage  thunder  on  the 
stooped  shoulders  of  Josephs.  Miss  Wilson,  after 
asking  the  housekeeper  with  some  asperity  why  she 
had  allowed  that  man  to  interfere  in  the  attendance, 
explained  to  the  guests  that  he  was  the  idiot  of  the 
countryside.  Mr.  Jansenius  laughed,  and  said  that 
he  had  not  seen  the  man's  face,  but  that  his  figure 
reminded  him  forcibly  of  some  one;  he  could  not  just 
then  recollect  exactly  whom. 

Smilash,  making  off  through  the  shrubbery,  found 
the  end  of  his  path  blocked  by  Agatha  and  a  young 
lady  whose  appearance  alarmed  him  more  than  had 
that  of  Mrs.  Jansenius.  PTe  attempted  to  force  his 
way  through  the  hedge,  but  in  vain;  the  laurel  was 

77 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

impenetrable,  and  the  noise  he  made  attracted  the 
attention  of  the  approaching  couple.  He  made  no 
further  effort  to  escape,  but  threw  his  borrowed  apron 
over  his  head  and  stood  bolt  upright  with  his  back 
against  the  bushes. 

*'  What  is  that  man  doing  there?  "  said  Henrietta, 
stopping  mistrustfully. 

Agatha  laughed,  and  said  loudly,  so  that  he  might 
hear:  "  It  is  only  a  harmless  madman  that  Miss  Wil- 
son employs.  He  is  fond  of  disguising  himself  in 
some  silly  way  and  trying  to  frighten  us.  Don't  be 
afraid.     Come  on." 

Henrietta  hung  back,  but  her  arm  was  linked  in 
Agatha's,  and  she  was  drawn  along  in  spite  of  herself. 
Smilash  did  not  move.  Agatha  strolled  on  coolly, 
and  as  she  passed  him,  adroitly  caught  the  apron  be- 
tween her  finger  and  thumb  and  twitched  it  from  his 
face.  Instantly  Henrietta  uttered  a  piercing  scream, 
and  Smilash  caught  her  in  his  arms. 

"  Quick,"  he  said  to  Agatha,  "  she  is  fainting.  Eun 
for  some  water.  Run! "  And  he  bent  over  Henri- 
etta, who  clung  to  him  frantically.  Agatha,  bewil- 
dered by  the  effect  of  her  practical  joke,  hesitated  a 
moment,  and  then  ran  to  the  lawn. 

"  What  is  the  matter?  "  said  Fairholme. 

'^  Nothing.  I  want  some  water — quick,  please. 
Henrietta  has  fainted  in  the  shrubbery,  that  is  all." 

"  Please  do  not  stir,"  said  Miss  Wilson  authorita- 
tively, "you  will  crowd  the  path  and  delay  useful 
assistance.     Miss  Ward,  kindly  get  some  water  and 

78 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

bring  it  to  us.  Agatha,  come  with  me  and  point  out 
where  Mrs.  Trefusis  is.  You  may  come  too,  Miss 
Carpenter;  you  are  so  strong.  The  rest  will  please 
remain  where  they  are." 

Followed  by  the  two  girls,  she  hurried  into  the 
shrubbery,  where  Mr.  Jansenius  was  already  looking 
anxiously  for  his  daughter.  He  was  the  only  person 
they  found  there.     Smilash  and  Henrietta  were  gone. 

At  first  the  seekers,  merely  puzzled,  did  nothing 
but  question  Agatha  incredulously  as  to  the  exact 
spot  on  which  Henrietta  had  fallen.  But  Mr.  Jan- 
senius soon  made  them  understand  that  the  position 
of  a  lady  in  the  hands  of  a  half-witted  laborer  was 
one  of  danger.  His  agitation  infected  them,  and 
when  Agatha  endeavored  to  reassure  him  by  declaring 
that  Smilash  was  a  disguised  gentleman.  Miss  Wilson, 
supposing  this  to  be  a  mere  repetition  of  her  former 
idle  conjecture,  told  her  sharply  to  hold  her  tongue, 
as  the  time  was  not  one  for  talking  nonsense.  The 
news  now  spread  through  the  whole  company,  and 
the  excitement  became  intense.  Fairholme  shouted 
for  volunteers  to  make  up  a  searching  party.  All  the 
men  present  responded,  and  they  were  about  to  rush 
to  the  college  gates  in  a  body  when  it  occurred  to  the 
cooler  among  them  that  they  had  better  divide  into 
several  parties,  in  order  that  search  might  be  made 
at  once  in  different  quarters.  Ten  minutes  of  con- 
fusion followed.  Mr.  Jansenius  started  several  times 
in  quest  of  Henrietta,  and,  when  he  had  gone  a  few 
steps,  returned  and  begged  that  no  more  time  should 

79 


An   Unsocial  Socialist 

"be  wasted.  Josephs,  whose  faith  was  simple,  retired 
to  pray,  and  did  good,  as  far  as  it  went,  by  withdraw- 
ing one  voice  from  the  din  of  plans,  objections,  and 
suggestions  which  the  rest  were  making;  each  person 
trying  to  be  heard  above  the  others. 

At  last  Miss  Wilson  quelled  the  prevailing  anarchy. 
Servants  were  sent  to  alarm  the  neighbors  and  call  in 
the  village  police.  Detachments  were  sent  in  various 
directions  under  the  command  of  Fairholme  and 
other  energetic  spirits.  The  girls  formed  parties 
among  themselves,  which  were  reinforced  by  male 
deserters  from  the  previous  levies.  Miss  Wilson  then 
went  indoors  and  conducted  a  search  through  the  in- 
terior of  the  college.  Only  two  persons  were  left  on 
the  tennis  ground — Agatha  and  Mrs.  Jansenius,  who 
had  been  surprisingly  calm  throughout. 

"  You  need  not  be  anxious,"  said  Agatha,  who  had 
been  standing  aloof  since  her  rebuff  by  Miss  Wilson. 
"  I  am  sure  there  is  no  danger.  It  is  most  extraordi- 
nary that  they  have  gone  away;  but  the  man  is  no 
more  mad  than  I  am,  and  I  know  he  is  a  gentleman. 
He  told  me  so." 

"  Let  us  hope  for  the  best,"  said  Mrs.  Jansenius, 
smoothly.  "  I  think  I  will  sit  down — I  feel  so  tired. 
Thanks."  (Agatha  had  handed  her  a  chair.)  "  What 
did  you  say  he  told  you — this  man  ?  " 

Agatha  related  the  circumstances  of  her  acquaint- 
ance with  Smilash,  adding,  at  Mrs.  Jansenius's  re- 
quest, a  minute  description  of  his  personal  appear- 
ance.     Mrs.  Jansenius  remarked  that  it  was  very 

80 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

singular,  and  that  she  was  sure  Henrietta  was  quite 
safe.  She  then  partook  of  claret-cup  and  sandwiches. 
Agatha,  though  glad  to  find  someone  disposed  to  lis- 
ten to  her,  was  puzzled  by  her  aunt's  coolness,  and 
was  even  goaded  into  pointing  out  that  though  Smi- 
lash  was  not  a  laborer,  it  did  not  follow  that  he  was 
an  honest  man.  But  Mrs.  Jansenius  only  said:  "  Oh, 
she  is  safe — quite  safe!  At  least,  of  course,  I  can  only 
hope  so.  We  shall  have  news  presently,"  and  took 
another  sandwich. 

The  searchers  soon  began  to  return,  baffled.  A 
few  shepherds,  the  only  persons  in  the  vicinity,  had 
been  asked  whether  they  had  seen  a  young  lady  and 
a  laborer.  Some  of  them  had  seen  a  young  woman 
with  a  basket  of  clothes,  if  that  mout  be  her.  Some 
thought  that  Phil  Martin  the  carrier  would  see  her 
if  anybody  would.  None  of  them  had  any  positive 
information  to  give. 

As  the  afternoon  wore  on,  and  party  after  party  re- 
turned tired  and  unsuccessful,  depression  replaced  ex- 
citement; conversation,  no  longer  tumultuous,  was 
carried  on  in  whispers,  and  some  of  the  local  visitors 
slipped  away  to  their  homes  with  a  growing  convic- 
tion that  something  unpleasant  had  happened,  and 
that  it  would  be  as  well  not  to  be  mixed  up  in  it.  Mr. 
Jansenius,  though  a  few  words  from  his  wife  had  sur- 
prised and  somewhat  calmed  him,  was  still  pitiably 
restless  and  uneasy. 

At  last  the  police  arrived.  At  sight  of  their  uni- 
forms excitement  revived;  there  was  a  general  con- 
6  81 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

viction  that  something  effectual  would  be  done  now. 
But  the  constables  were  only  mortal,  and  in  a  few 
moments  a  whisper  spread  that  they  were  fools.  They 
doubted  everything  told  them,  and  expressed  their 
contempt  for  amateur  searching  by  entering  on  a 
fresh  investigation,  prying  with  the  greatest  care  into 
the  least  probable  places.  Two  of  them  went  off  to 
the  chalet  to  look  for  Smilash.  Then  Fairholme,  sun- 
burnt, perspiring,  and  dusty,  but  still  energetic, 
brought  back  the  exhausted  remnant  of  his  party, 
with  a  sullen  boy,  who  scowled  defiantly  at  the  police, 
evidently  believing  that  he  was  about  to  be  delivered 
into  their  custody. 

Fairholme  had  been  everywhere,  and,  having  seen 
nothing  of  the  missing  pair,  had  come  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  they  were  nowhere.  He  had  asked  every- 
body for  information,  and  had  let  them  know  that  he 
meant  to  have  it  too,  if  it  was  to  be  had.  But  it  was 
not  to  be  had.  The  sole  result  of  his  labor  was  the 
evidence  of  the  boy  whom  he  didn't  believe. 

"Hm!"  said  the  inspector,  not  quite  pleased  by 
Fairholme's  zeal,  and  yet  overborne  by  it.  ^'  You're 
"Wickens's  boy,  ain't  you?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am  Wickens's  boy,"  said  the  witness,  partly 
fierce,  partly  lachrymose,  "  and  I  say  I  seen  him,  and 
if  anyone  sez  I  didn't  see  him,  he's  a  lie." 

"  Come,"  said  the  inspector  sharply,  "  give  us  none 
of  your  cheek,  but  tell  us  what  you  saw,  or  you'll  have 
to  deal  with  me  afterwards." 

"I  don't  care  who  I  deal  with,"  said  the  boy,  at 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

bay.  "  I  can't  be  took  for  seein'  him,  because  there's 
no  lor  agin  it.  I  was  in  the  gravel  pit  in  the  canal 
meadow " 

"What  business  had  you  there?"  said  the  inspec- 
tor, interrupting. 

"  I  got  leave  to  be  there,"  said  the  boy  insolently, 
but  reddening. 

"  Who  gave  you  leave?  "  said  the  inspector,  collar- 
ing him.  "  Ah,"  he  added,  as  the  captive  burst  into 
tears,  "  I  told  you  you'd  have  to  deal  with  me.  Now 
hold  your  noise,  and  remember  where  you  are  and 
who  you're  speakin'  to;  and  perhaps  I  mayn't  lock 
you  up  this  time.  Tell  me  what  you  saw  when  you 
were  trespassin'  in  the  meadow." 

"I  sor  a  young  'oman  and  a  man.  And  I  see 
her  kissin'  him;  and  the  gentleman  won't  believe 
me." 

"  You  mean  you  saw  him  kissing  her,  more  likely." 

"  !N^o,  I  don't.  I  know  wot  it  is  to  have  a  girl  kiss 
you  when  you  don't  want.  And  I  gev  a  screech  to 
friken  'em.  And  he  called  me  and  gev  me  tuppence, 
and  sez,  '  You  go  to  the  devil,'  he  sez,  '  and  don't  tell 
no  one  you  seen  me  here,  or  else,'  he  sez,  '  I  might  be 
tempted  to  drownd  you,'  he  sez,  'and  wot  a  shock 
that  would  be  to  your  parents! '  '  Oh,  yes,  very 
likely,'  I  sez,  jes'  like  that.  Then  I  went  away,  be- 
cause he  knows  Mr.  Wickens,  and  I  was  af eerd  of  his 
telling  on  me." 

The  boy  being  now  subdued,  questions  were  put  to 
him  from  all  sides.     But  his  powers  of  observation 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

and  description  went  no  further.  As  he  was  anxious 
to  propitiate  his  captors,  he  answered  as  often  as  pos- 
sible in  the  afiirmative.  Mr.  Jansenius  asked  him 
whether  the  young  woman  he  had  seen  was  a  lady, 
and  he  said  yes.  Was  the  man  a  laborer?  Yes — 
after  a  moment's  hesitation.  How  was  she  dressed? 
He  hadn't  taken  notice.  Had  she  red  flowers  in  her 
hat  ?  Yes.  Had  she  a  green  dress  ?  Yes.  Were 
the  flowers  in  her  hat  yellow?  (Agatha's  question.) 
Yes.  Was  her  dress  pink  ?  Yes.  Sure  it  wasn't 
black?     No  answer. 

^'  I  told  you  he  was  a  liar,"  said  Fairholme  contemp- 
tuously. 

"  Well,  I  expect  he's  seen  something,"  said  the  in- 
spector, "but  what  it  was,  or  who  it  was,  is  more 
than  I  can  get  out  of  him." 

There  was  a  pause,  and  they  looked  askance  upon 
Wickens's  boy.  His  account  of  the  kissing  made  it 
almost  an  insult  to  the  Janseniuses  to  identify  with 
Henrietta  the  person  he  had  seen.  Jane  suggested 
dragging  the  canal,  but  was  silenced  by  an  indignant 
"  sh-sh-sh,"  accompanied  by  apprehensive  and  sym- 
pathetic glances  at  the  bereaved  parents.  She  was 
displaced  from  the  focus  of  attention  by  the  appear- 
ance of  the  two  policemen  who  had  been  sent  to  the 
chalet.  Smilash  was  between  them,  apparently  a  pris- 
oner. At  a  distance,  he  seemed  to  have  suffered 
some  frightful  injury  to  his  head,  but  when  he  was 
brought  into  the  midst  of  the  company  it  appeared 
that  he  had  twisted  a  red  handkerchief  about  his  face 

84 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

as  if  to  soothe  a  toothache.  He  had  a  particularly 
hangdog  expression  as  he  stood  before  the  inspector 
with  his  head  bowed  and  his  countenance  averted 
from  Mr.  Jansenius,  who,  attempting  to  scrutinize 
his  features,  could  see  nothing  but  a  patch  of  red 
handkerchief. 

One  of  the  policemen  described  how  they  had  found 
Smilash  in  the  act  of  entering  his  dwelling;  how  he 
had  refused  to  give  any  information  or  to  go  to  the 
college,  and  had  defied  them  to  take  him  there  against 
his  will;  and  how,  on  their  at  last  proposing  to  send 
for  the  inspector  and  Mr.  Jansenius,  he  had  called 
them  asses,  and  consented  to  accompany  them.  The 
policeman  concluded  by  declaring  that  the  man  was 
either  drunk  or  designing,  as  he  could  not  or  would 
not  speak  sensibly. 

"  Look  here,  governor,"  began  Smilash  to  the  in- 
spector, "  I  am  a  common  man — no  commoner  goin', 
as  you  may  see  for " 

"  That's  'im,"  cried  Wickens's  boy,  suddenly  struck 
with  a  sense  of  his  own  importance  as  a  witness. 
"  That's  'im  that  the  lady  kissed,  and  that  gev  me 
tuppence  and  threatened  to  drownd  me." 

"  And  with  a  'umble  and  contrite  'art  do  I  regret 
that  I  did  not  drownd  you,  you  young  rascal,"  said 
Smilash.  "  It  ain't  manners  to  interrupt  a  man  who, 
though  common,  might  be  your  father  for  years  and 
wisdom." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,"  said  the  inspector  to  the  boy. 
"  Now,  Smilash,  do  you  wish  to  make  any  statement? 

85 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

Be  careful,  for  whatever  you  say  may  be  used  against 
you  hereafter." 

"  If  you  was  to  lead  me  straight  away  to  the  scaf- 
fold, colonel,  I  could  tell  you  no  more  than  the  truth. 
If  any  man  can  say  that  he  has  heard  Jeff  Smilash  tell 
a  lie,  let  him  stand  forth." 

"  We  don't  want  to  hear  about  that,"  said  the  in- 
spector. "  As  you  are  a  stranger  in  these  parts,  no- 
body here  knows  any  bad  of  you.  No  more  do  they 
know  any  good  of  you  neither." 

"  Colonel,"  said  Smilash,  deeply  impressed,  "  you 
have  a  penetrating  mind,  and  you  know  a  bad  char- 
acter at  sight.  Not  to  deceive  you,  I  am  that  given 
to  lying,  and  laziness,  and  self-indulgence  of  all  sorts, 
that  the  only  excuse  I  can  find  for  myself  is  that  it 
is  the  nature  of  the  race  so  to  be;  for  most  men  is  just 
as  bad  as  me,  and  some  of  'em  worser.  I  do  not  speak 
pers'nal  to  you,  governor,  nor  to  the  honorable  gentle- 
men here  assembled.  But  then  you,  colonel,  are  a 
hinspector  of  police,  which  I  take  to  be  more  than 
merely  human;  and  as  to  the  gentlemen  here,  a  gentle- 
man ain't  a  man — leastways  not  a  common  man — 
the  common  man  bein'  but  the  slave  wot  feeds  and 
clothes  the  gentleman  beyond  the  common." 

"  Come,"  said  the  inspector,  unable  to  follow  these 
observations,  "  you  are  a  clever  dodger,  but  you  can't 
dodge  me.  Have  you  any  statement  to  make  with 
reference  to  the  lady  that  was  last  seen  in  your  com- 
pany?" 

"Make  a  statement  about  a  lady!"  said  Smilash 
8G 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

indignantly.      "Far     be    the     thought    from     my 
mind!  " 

"What  have  you  done  with  her?"  said  Agatha, 
impetuously.     "  Don't  be  silly." 

"You're  not  bound  to  answer  that,  you  know," 
said  the  inspector,  a  little  put  out  by  Agatha's  taking 
advantage  of  her  irresponsible  unofficial  position  to 
come  so  directly  to  the  point.  "  You  may  if  you  like, 
though.  If  you've  done  any  harm,  you'd  better  hold 
your  tongue.     If  not,  you'd  better  say  so." 

"  I  will  set  the  young  lady's  mind  at  rest  respecting 
her  honorable  sister,"  said  Smilash.  "  When  the 
young  lady  caught  sight  of  me  she  fainted.  Bein' 
but  a  young  man,  and  not  used  to  ladies,  I  will  not 
deny  but  that  I  were  a  bit  scared,  and  that  my  mind 
were  not  open  to  the  sensiblest  considerations.  When 
she  unveils  her  orbs,  so  to  speak,  she  ketches  me  round 
the  neck,  not  knowin'  me  from  Adam  the  father  of  us 
all,  and  sez,  '  Bring  me  some  water,  and  don't  let  the 
girls  see  me.'  Through  not  'avin'  the  intelligence  to 
think  for  myself,  I  done  just  what  she  told  me.  I 
ups  with  her  in  my  arms — she  bein'  a  light  weight 
and  a  slender  figure — ^and  makes  for  the  canal  as  fast 
as  I  could.  When  I  got  there,  I  lays  her  on  the  bank 
and  goes  for  the  water.  But  what  with  factories,  and 
pollutions,  and  high  civilizations  of  one  sort  and  an- 
other, English  canal  water  ain't  fit  to  sprinkle  on  a 
lady,  much  less  for  her  to  drink.  Just  then,  as  luck 
would  have  it,  a  barge  came  along  and  took  her 

aboard,  and " 

87 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"  No  such  a  thing/'  said  Wickens's  boy  stubbornly, 
emboldened  by  witnessing  the  effrontery  of  one  ap- 
parently of  his  own  class.  "  I  sor  you  two  standin' 
together,  and  her  a  kissin'  of  you.  There  worn't  no 
barge." 

"  Is  the  maiden  modesty  of  a  born  lady  to  be  dis- 
believed on  the  word  of  a  common  boy  that  only  walks 
the  earth  by  the  sufferance  of  the  landlords  and 
moneylords  he  helps  to  feed?  "  cried  Smilash  indig- 
nantly. "  Why,  you  young  infidel,  a  lady  ain't  made 
of  common  brick  like  you.  She  don't  know  what  a 
kiss  means,  and  if  she  did,  is  it  likely  that  she'd  kiss 
me  when, a  fine  man  like  the  inspector  here  would  be 
only  too  happy  to  oblige  her.  Fie,  for  shame!  The 
barge  were  red  and  yellow,  with  a  green  dragon  for  a 
figurehead,  and  a  white  horse  towin'  of  it.  Perhaps 
you're  color-blind,  and  can't  distinguish  red  and  yel- 
low. The  bargee  was  moved  to  compassion  by  the 
sight  of  the  poor  faintin'  lady,  and  •the  offer  of  'arf-a- 
crown,  and  he  had  a  mother  that  acted  as  a  mother 
should.  There  was  a  cabin  in  that  barge  about  as 
big  as  the  locker  where  your  ladyship  keeps  your  jam 
and  pickles,  and  in  that  locker  the  bargee  lives,  quite 
domestic,  with  his  wife  and  mother  and  five  children. 
Them  canal  boats  is  what  you  may  call  the  wooden 
walls  of  England." 

"  Come,  get  on  with  your  story,"  said  the  inspector. 
"  We  know  what  barges  is  as  well  as  you." 

"I  wish  more  knew  of  'em,"  retorted  Smilash; 
"perhaps  it  'ud  lighten  your  work  a  bit.     However, 

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An  Unsocial  Socialist 

as  I  was  sayin',  we  went  right  down  the  canal  to  Ly- 
vern,  where  we  got  off,  and  the  lady  she  took  the  rail- 
way omnibus  and  went  away  in  it.  With  the  noble 
openhandedness  of  her  class,  she  gave  me  sixpence; 
here  it  is,  in  proof  that  my  words  is  true.  And  I  wish 
her  safe  home,  and  if  I  was  on  the  rack  I  could  tell 
no  more,  except  that  when  I  got  back  I  were  laid 
hands  on  by  these  here  bobbies,  contrary  to  the  Brit- 
ish constitooshun,  and  if  your  ladyship  will  kindly 
go  to  where  that  constitooshun  is  wrote  down,  and 
find  out  wot  it  sez  about  my  rights  and  liberties — 
for  I  have  been  told  that  the  working-man  has  his 
liberties,  and  have  myself  seen  plenty  took  with  him 
— you  will  oblige  a  common  chap  more  than  his  edu- 
cation will  enable  him  to  express." 

"  Sir,"  cried  Mr.  Jansenius  suddenly,  "  will  you 
hold  up  your  head  and  look  me  in  the  face?  " 

Smilash  did  so,  and  immediately  started  theatri- 
cally, exclaiming,  "Whom  do  I  see?" 

"  You  would  hardly  believe  it,"  he  continued,  ad- 
dressing the  company  at  large,  "but  I  am  well  be- 
known  to  this  honorable  gentleman.  I  see  it  upon 
your  lips,  governor,  to  ask  after  my  missus,  and  I 
thank  you  for  your  condescending  interest.  She  is 
well,  sir,  and  my  residence  here  is  fully  agreed  upon 
between  us.  What  little  cloud  may  have  rose  upon 
our  domestic  horizon  has  past  away;  and,  governor  " 
— here  Smilash's  voice  fell  with  graver  emphasis — 
"  them  as  interferes  betwixt  man  and  wife  now  will 
incur  a  nevvy  responsibility.      Here  I  am,  such  as 

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An  Unsocial  Socialist 

you  see  me,  and  here  I  mean  to  stay,  likewise  such  as 
you  see  me.  That  is,  if  what  you  may  call  destiny 
permits.  For  destiny  is  a  rum  thing,  governor.  I 
came  here  thinking  it  was  the  last  place  in  the  world 
I  should  ever  set  eyes  on  you  in,  and  blow  me  if  you 
ain't  a'most  the  first  person  I  pops  on." 

"I  do  not  choose  to  be  a  party  to  this  mummery 
of " 

"  Asking  your  leave  to  take  the  word  out  of  your 
mouth,  governor,  I  make  you  a  party  to  nothink.  Re- 
specting my  past  conduct,  you  may  out  with  it  or  you 
may  keep  it  to  yourself.  All  I  say  is  that  if  you  out 
with  some  of  it  I  will  out  with  the  rest.  All  or  none. 
You  are  free  to  tell  the  inspector  here  that  I  am  a 
bad  'un.  His  penetrating  mind  have  discovered  that 
already.  But  if  you  go  into  names  and  particulars, 
you  will  not  only  be  acting  against  the  wishes  of  my 
missus,  but  you  will  lead  to  my  tellin'  the  whole  story 
right  out  afore  everyone  here,  and  then  goin'  away 
where  no  one  won't  never  find  me." 

^'  I  think  the  less  said  the  better,"  said  Mrs.  Jan- 
senius,  uneasily  observant  of  the  curiosity  and  sur- 
prise this  dialogue  was  causing.  "But  understand 
this,  Mr. " 

"  Smilash,  dear  lady;  Jeff  Smilash." 

"Mr.  Smilash,  whatever  arrangement  you  may 
have  made  with  your  wife,  it  has  nothing  to  do  with 
me.  You  have  behaved  infamously,  and  I  desire  to 
have  as  little  as  possible  to  say  to  you  in  future." 

"  I  desire  to  have  nothing  to  say  to  you — nothing  I  " 
90 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

said  Mr.  Jansenius.  '^  I  look  on  your  conduct  as  an 
insult  to  me,  personally.  You  may  live  in  any  fash- 
ion you  please,  and  where  you  please.  All  England 
is  open  to  you  except  one  place — my  house.  Come, 
Kuth."  He  offered  his  arm  to  his  wife;  she  took  it, 
and  they  turned  away,  looking  about  for  Agatha,  who, 
disgusted  at  the  gaping  curiosity  of  the  rest,  had 
pointedly  withdrawn  beyond  earshot  of  the  conver- 
sation. 

Miss  Wilson  looked  from  Smilash — who  had 
watched  Mr.  Jansenius's  explosion  of  wrath  with 
friendly  interest,  as  if  it  concerned  him  as  a  curious 
spectator  only — to  her  two  visitors  as  they  retreated. 
"Pray,  do  you  consider  this  man's  statement  satis- 
factory? "  she  said  to  them.     "  I  do  not." 

"  I  am  far  too  common  a  man  to  be  able  to  make 
any  statement  that  could  satisfy  a  mind  cultivated  as 
yours  has  been,"  said  Smilash,  "  but  I  would  'umbly 
pint  out  to  you  that  there  is  a  boy  yonder  with  a  tele- 
gram trying  to  shove  hisself  through  the  'iborn 
throng." 

"  Miss  Wilson!  "  cried  the  boy  shrilly. 

She  took  the  telegram;  read  it;  and  frowned.  "  We 
have  had  all  our  trouble  for  nothing,  ladies  and 
gentlemen,"  she  said,  with  suppressed  vexation. 
"Mrs.  Trefusis  says  here  that  she  has  gone  back  to 
London.  She  has  not  considered  it  necessary  to  add 
any  explanation." 

There  was  a  general  murmur  of  disappointment. 

"  Don't  lose  heart,  ladies,"  said  Smilash.  "  She 
91 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

may  be  drowned  or  murdered  for  all  we  know.  Any- 
one may  send  a  telegram  in  a  false  name.  Perhaps 
it's  a  plant.  Let's  hope  for  your  sakes  that  some  little 
accident — on  the  railway,  for  instance — may  happen 

yet." 

Miss  Wilson  turned  upon  him,  glad  to  find  some- 
one with  whom  she  might  justly  be  angry.  "  You 
had  better  go  about  your  business,"  she  said.  "  And 
don't  let  me  see  you  here  again." 

"  This  is  'ard,"  said  Smilash  plaintively.  "  My  in- 
tentions was  nothing  but  good.  But  I  know  wot  it 
is.  It's  that  young  varmint  a-saying  that  the  young 
lady  kissed  me." 

"  Inspector,"  said  Miss  Wilson,  "  will  you  oblige 
me  by  seeing  that  he  leaves  the  college  as  soon  as 
possible  ?  " 

"Where's  my  wages?"  he  retorted  reproachfully. 
"  Where's  my  lawful  wages?  I  am  su'prised  at  a  lady 
like  you,  chock  full  o'  moral  science  and  political 
economy,  wanting  to  put  a  poor  man  off.  Where's 
your  wages  fund?  Where's  your  remuneratory  capi- 
tal?" 

"  Don't  you  give  him  anything,  ma'am,"  said  the 
inspector.  "  The  money  he's  had  from  the  lady  will 
pay  him  very  well.  Move  on  here,  or  we'll  precious 
soon  hurry  you." 

"Very  well,"  grumbled  Smilash.  "I  bargained 
for  ninepence,  and  what  with  the  roller,  and  opening 
the  soda  water,  and  shoving  them  heavy  tables  about, 
there  was  a  decomposition  of  tissue  in  me  to  the  tune 

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An  Unsocial  Socialist 

of  two  shillings.     But  all  I  ask  is  the  ninepence,  and      ; 
let  the  lady  keep  the  one  and  threppence  as  the  reward 
of  abstinence.     Exploitation  of  labor  at  the  rate  of  a 
hundred  and  twenty-five  per  cent.,  that  is.     Come,  J 
give  us  ninepence,  and  I'll  go  straight  off." 

"  Here  is  a  shilling,"  said  Miss  Wilson.    "  Now  go." 

"  Threppence  change!  "  cried  Smilash.  "  Honesty 
has  ever  been " 

"  You  may  keep  the  change." 

"  You  have  a  noble  'art,  lady;  but  you're  flying  in 
the  face  of  the  law  of  supply  and  demand.  If  you 
keep  payin'  at  this  rate,  there'll  be  a  rush  of  laborers 
to  the  college,  and  competition  '11  soon  bring  you 
down  from  a  shilling  to  sixpence,  let  alone  ninepence. 
That's  the  way  wages  go  down  and  death  rates  goes 
up,  worse  luck  for  the  likes  of  bus,  as  has  to  sell  our- 
selves like  pigs  in  the  market." 

He  was  about  to  continue  when  the  policeman  took 
him  by  the  arm,  turned  him  towards  the  gate,  and 
pointed  expressively  in  that  direction.  Smilash 
looked  vacantly  at  him  for  a  moment.  Then,  with 
a  wink  at  Fairholme,  he  walked  gravely  away,  amid 
general  staring  and  silence. 


CHAPTER   V 

What  had  passed  between  Smilash  and  Henrietta 
remained  unknown  except  to  themselves.  Agatha 
had  seen  Henrietta  clasping  his  neck  in  her  arms,  but 
had  not  waited  to  hear  the  exclamation  of  "  Sidney, 
Sidney/'  which  followed,  nor  to  see  him  press  her 
face  to  his  breast  in  his  anxiety  to  stifle  her  voice  as 
he  said,  "  My  darling  love,  don't  screech,  I  implore 
you.  Confound  it,  we  shall  have  the  whole  pack 
here  in  a  moment.     Hush!  " 

"  Don't  leave  me  again,  Sidney,"  she  entreated, 
clinging  faster  to  him  as  his  perplexed  gaze,  wander- 
ing towards  the  entrance  to  the  shrubbery,  seemed 
to  forsake  her.  A  din  of  voices  in  that  direction 
precipitated  his  irresolution. 

"  We  must  run  away,  Hetty,"  he  said.  "  Hold  fast 
about  my  neck,  and  don't  strangle  me.  Now  then." 
He  lifted  her  upon  his  shoulder  and  ran  swiftly 
through  the  grounds.  When  they  were  stopped  by 
the  wall,  he  placed  her  atop  of  it,  scrambled  over,  and 
made  her  jump  into  his  arms.  Then  he  staggered 
away  with  her  across  the  fields,  gasping  out,  in  reply 
to  the  inarticulate  remonstrances  which  burst  from 
her  as  he  stumbled  and  reeled  at  every  hillock,  "  Your 

94 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

weight  is  increasing  at  the  rate  of  a  stone  a  second, 
my  love.  If  you  stoop  you  will  break  my  back.  Oh, 
Lord,  here^s  a  ditch !  " 

"  Let  me  down,"  screamed  Henrietta  in  an  ecstasy 
of  delight  and  apprehension.  "  You  will  hurt  your- 
self, and —     Oh,  do  take " 

He  struggled  through  a  dry  ditch  as  she  spoke,  and 
came  out  upon  a  grassy  place  that  bordered  the  tow- 
path  of  the  canal.  Here,  on  the  bank  of  a  hollow 
where  the  moss  was  dry  and  soft,  he  seated  her,  threw 
himself  prone  on  his  elbows  before  her,  and  said, 
panting: 

"  Nessus  carrying  off  Dejanira  was  nothing  to  this! 
Whew!     Well,  my  darling,  are  you  glad  to  see  me?  " 

"  But " 

"But  me  no  huts,  unless  you  wish  me  to  vanish 
again  and  for  ever.  Wretch  that  I  am,  I  have  longed 
for  you  unspeakably  more  than  once  since  I  ran  away 
from  you.     You  didn't  care,  of  course?  " 

"  I  did.  I  did,  indeed.  Why  did  you  leave  me, 
Sidney?'' 

"  Lest  a  worse  thing  might  befall.  Come,  don't  let 
us  waste  in  explanations  the  few  minutes  we  have  left. 
Give  me  a  kiss." 

"  Then  you  are  going  to  leave  me  again.  Oh, 
Sidney " 

"  Never  mind  to-morrow,  Hetty.  Be  like  the  sun 
and  the  meadow,  which  are  not  in  the  least  concerned 
about  the  coming  winter.  Why  do  you  stare  at  that 
cursed  canal,  blindly  dragging  its  load  of  filth  from 

95 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

place  to  place  until  it  pitches  it  into  the  sea — just  as 
a  crowded  street  pitches  its  load  into  the  cemetery? 
Stare  at  me,  and  give  me  a  kiss." 

She  gave  him  several,  and  said  coaxingly,  with  her 
arm  still  upon  his  shoulder:  "  You  only  talk  that  way 
to  frighten  me,  Sidney;  I  know  you  do." 

"  You  are  the  bright  sun  of  my  senses,"  he  said, 
embracing  her.  "  I  feel  my  heart  and  brain  wither 
in  your  smile,  and  I  fling  them  to  you  for  your  prey 
with  exultation.  How  happy  I  am  to  have  a  wife 
who  does  not  despise  me  for  doing  so — who  rather 
loves  me  the  more!  " 

"  Don't  be  silly,"  said  Henrietta,  smiling  vacantly. 
Then,  stung  by  a  half  intuition  of  his  meaning,  she 
repulsed  him  and  said  angrily,  "  You  despise  me." 

"  Not  more  than  I  despise  myself.  Indeed,  not  so 
much;  for  many  emotions  that  seem  base  from  within 
seem  lovable  from  without." 

"  You  intend  to  leave  me  again.  I  feel  it.  I  know 
it." 

"  You  think  you  know  it  because  you  feel  it.  Not 
a  bad  reason,  either." 

"  Then  you  are  going  to  leave  me?  " 

"  Do  you  not  feel  it  and  know  it?  Yes,  my  cher- 
ished Hetty,  I  assuredly  am." 

She  broke  into  wild  exclamations  of  grief,  and  he 
drew  her  head  down  and  kissed  her  with  a  tender  ac- 
tion which  she  could  not  resist,  and  a  wry  face  which 
she  did  not  see. 

"  My  poor  Hetty,  you  don't  understand  me." 
96 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"  I  only  understand  that  you  hate  me,  and  want  to 
go  away  from  me." 

"  That  would  be  easy  to  understand.  But  the 
strangeness  is  that  I  love  you  and  want  to  go  away 
from  you.     Xot  for  ever.     Only  for  a  time." 

"  But  I  don't  want  you  to  go  away.  I  won't  let 
you  go  away/'  she  said,  a  trace  of  fierceness  mingling 
with  her  entreaty.  "  Why  do  you  want  to  leave  me 
if  you  love  me?" 

*^How  do  I  know?  I  can  no  more  tell  you  the 
whys  and  wherefores  of  myself  than  I  can  lift  myself 
up  by  the  waistband  and  carry  myself  into  the  next 
county,  as  some  one  challenged  a  speculator  in  per- 
petual motion  to  do.  I  am  too  much  a  pessimist  to 
respect  my  own  affections.  Do  you  know  what  a  pes- 
simist is?  " 

"  A  man  who  thinks  everybody  as  nasty  as  himself, 
and  hates  them  for  it." 

"  So,  or  thereabout.  Modern  English  polite  so- 
ciety, my  native  sphere,  seems  to  me  as  corrupt  as 
consciousness  of  culture  and  absence  of  honesty  can 
make  it.  A  canting,  lie-loving,  fact-hating,  scrib- 
bling, chattering,  wealth-hunting,  pleasure-hunting, 
celebrity-hunting  mob,  that,  having  lost  the  fear  of 
hell,  and  not  replaced  it  by  the  love  of  justice,  cares 
for  nothing  but  the  lion's  share  of  the  wealth  wrung 
by  threat  of  starvation  from  the  hands  of  the  classes 
that  create  it.  If  you  interrupt  me  with  a  silly 
speech,  Hetty,  I  will  pitch  you  into  the  canal,  and 
die  of  sorrow  for  my  lost  love  afterwards.  You 
7  97 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

know  what  I  am,  according  to  the  conventional  de- 
scription: a  gentleman  with  lots  of  money.  Do  you 
know  the  wicked  origin  of  that  money  and  gentility?" 

"  Oh,  Sidney;  have  you  been  doing  anything?  " 

"  No,  my  best  beloved;  I  am  a  gentleman,  and  have 
been  doing  nothing.  That  a  man  can  do  so  and  not 
starve  is  nowadays  not  even  a  paradox.  Every  half- 
penny I  possess  is  stolen  money;  but  it  has  been 
stolen  legally,  and,  what  is  of  some  practical  impor- 
tance to  you,  I  have  no  means  of  restoring  it  to  the 
rightful  owners  even  if  I  felt  inclined  to.  Do  you 
know  what  my  father  was?  " 

"What  difference  can  that  make  now?  Don't  be 
disagreeable  and  full  of  ridiculous  fads,  Sidney  dear. 
I  didn't  marry  your  father." 

"  No  ;  but  you  married — only  incidentally,  of 
course — my  father's  fortune.  That  necklace  of  yours 
was  purchased  with  his  money;  and  I  can  almost  fancy 
stains  of  blood " 

"  Stop,  Sidney.  I  don't  like  this  sort  of  romanc- 
ing.    It's  all  nonsense.     Do  be  nice  to  me." 

"  There  are  stains  of  sweat  on  it,  I  know." 

"  You  nasty  wretch!  " 

"  I  am  thinking,  not  of  you,  my  dainty  one,  but  of 
the  unfortunate  people  who  slave  that  we  may  live 
idly.  Let  me  explain  to  you  why  we  are  so  rich. 
My  father  was  a  shrewd,  energetic,  and  ambitious 
Manchester  man,  who  understood  an  exchange  of  any 
sort  as  a  transaction  by  which  one  man  should  lose 
and  the  other  gain.     He  made  it  his  object  to  make 

98 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

as  many  exchanges  as  possible,  and  to  be  always  the 
gaining  party  in  them.  I  do  not  know  exactly  what 
he  was,  for  he  was  ashamed  both  of  his  antecedents 
and  of  his  relatives,  from  which  I  can  only  infer  that 
they  were  honest,  and,  therefore,  unsuccessful  people. 
However,  he  acquired  some  knowledge  of  the  cotton 
trade,  saved  some  money,  borrowed  some  more  on  the 
security  of  his  reputation  for  getting  the  better  of 
other  people  in  business,  and,  as  he  accurately  told 
me  afterwards,  started  for  himself.  He  bought  a  fac- 
tory and  some  raw  cotton.  Now  you  must  know  that 
a  man,  by  laboring  some  time  on  a  piece  of  raw 
cotton,  can  turn  it  into  a  piece  of  manufactured  cot- 
ton fit  for  making  into  sheets  and  shifts  and  the  like. 
The  manufactured  cotton  is  more  valuable  than  the 
raw  cotton,  because  the  manufacture  costs  wear  and 
tear  of  machinery,  wear  and  tear  of  the  factory,  rent 
of  the  ground  upon  which  the  factory  is  built,  and 
human  labor,  or  wear  and  tear  of  live  men,  which  has 
to  be  made  good  by  food,  shelter,  and  rest.  Do  you 
understand  that?  " 

"  "We  used  to  learn  all  about  it  at  college.  I  don't 
see  what  it  has  to  do  with  us,  since  you  are  not  in  the 
cotton  trade." 

"  You  learned  as  much  as  it  was  thought  safe  to 
teach  you,  no  doubt;  but  not  quite  all,  I  should  think. 
When  my  father  started  for  himself,  there  were  many 
men  in  Manchester  who  were  willing  to  labor  in  this 
way,  but  they  had  no  factory  to  work  in,  no  machin- 
ery to  work  with,  and  no  raw  cotton  to  work  on, 

99 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

simply  because  all  this  indispensable  plant,  and  the 
materials  for  producing  a  fresh  supply  of  it,  had  been 
appropriated  by  earlier  comers.  So  they  found  them- 
selves with  gaping  stomachs,  shivering  limbs,  and 
hungry  wives  and  children,  in  a  place  called  their 
own  country,  in  which,  nevertheless,  every  scrap  of 
ground  and  possible  source  of  subsistence  was  tightly 
locked  up  in  the  hands  of  others  and  guarded  by 
armed  soldiers  and  policemen.  In  this  helpless  con- 
dition, the  poor  devils  were  ready  to  beg  for  access  to 
a  factory  and  to  raw  cotton  on  any  conditions  com- 
patible with  life.  My  father  offered  them  the  use  of 
his  factory,  his  machines,  and  his  raw  cotton  on  the 
following  conditions:  They  were  to  work  long  and 
hard,  early  and  late,  to  add  fresh  value  to  his  raw 
cotton  by  manufacturing  it.  Out  of  the  value  thus 
created  by  them,  they  were  to  recoup  him  for  what 
he  supplied  them  with:  rent,  shelter,  gas,  water,  ma- 
chinery, raw  cotton — everything,  and  to  pay  him  for 
his  own  services  as  superintendent,  manager,  and 
salesman.  So  far  he  asked  nothing  but  just  remu- 
neration. But  after  this  had  been  paid,  a  balance  due 
solely  to  their  own  labor  remained.  ^  Out  of  this,' 
said  my  father,  '  you  shall  keep  just  enough  to  save 
you  from  starving,  and  of  the  rest  you  shall  make  me 
a  present  to  reward  me  for  my  virtue  in  saving  money. 
Such  is  the  bargain  I  propose.  It  is,  in  my  opinion, 
fair  and  calculated  to  encourage  thrifty  habits.  If  it 
does  not  strike  you  in  that  light,  you  can  get  a  factory 
and  raw  cotton  for  yourselves;  you  shall  not  use  mine.' 

100 


An  Unsocial  Sociali&V',  i,,  i  ]'  \^'^  ;\''  ^'  ^\^^ 


In  other  words,  they  might  go  to  the  devil  and  starve 
— Hobson's  choice! — for  all  the  other  factories  were 
owned  by  men  who  offered  no  better  terms.  The 
Manchesterians  could  not  bear  to  starve  or  to  see  their 
children  starve,  and  so  they  accepted  his  terms  and 
went  into  the  factory.  The  terms,  you  see,  did  not 
admit  of  their  beginning  to  save  for  themselves  as  he 
had  done.  Well,  they  created  great  wealth  by  their 
labor,  and  lived  on  very  little,  so  that  the  balance 
they  gave  for  nothing  to  my  father  was  large.  He 
bought  more  cotton,  and  more  machinery,  and  more 
factories  with  it;  employed  more  men  to  make  wealth 
for  him,  and  saw  his  fortune  increase  like  a  rolling 
snowball.  He  prospered  enormously,  but  the  work- 
men were  no  better  off  than  at  first,  and  they  dared 
not  rebel  and  demand  more  of  the  money  they  had 
made,  for  there  were  always  plenty  of  starving 
wretches  outside  willing  to  take  their  places  on  the 
old  terms.  Sometimes  he  met  with  a  check,  as,  for 
instance,  when,  in  his  eagerness  to  increase  his  store, 
he  made  the  men  manufacture  more  cotton  than 
the  public  needed;  or  when  he  could  not  get  enough 
of  raw  cotton,  as  happened  during  the  Civil  War  in 
America.  Then  he  adapted  himself  to  circumstances 
by  turning  away  as  many  workmen  as  he  could  not 
find  customers  or  cotton  for;  and  they,  of  course, 
starved  or  subsisted  on  charity.  During  the  war-time 
a  big  subscription  was  got  up  for  these  poor  wretches, 
and  my  father  subscribed  one  hundred  pounds,  in 
spite,  he  said,  of  his  own  great  losses.  Then  he 
101 


An' Unsocial  Socialist 

bought  new  machines;  and,  as  women  and  children 
could  work  these  as  well  as  men,  and  were  cheaper 
and  more  docile,  he  turned  away  about  seventy  out 
of  every  hundred  of  his  hands  (so  he  called  the  men), 
and  replaced  them  by  their  wives  and  children,  who 
made  money  for  him  faster  than  ever.  By  this  time 
he  had  long  ago  given  up  managing  the  factories, 
and  paid  clever  fellows  who  had  no  money  of  their 
own  a  few  hundreds  a  year  to  do  it  for  him.  He  also 
purchased  shares  in  other  concerns  conducted  on  the 
same  principle;  pocketed  dividends  made  in  countries 
which  he  had  never  visited  by  men  whom  he  had 
never  seen;  bought  a  seat  in  Parliament  from  a  poor 
and  corrupt  constituency,  and  helped  to  preserve  the 
laws  by  which  he  had  thriven.  Afterwards,  when  his 
wealth  grew  famous,  he  had  less  need  to  bribe;  for 
modern  men  worship  the  rich  as  gods,  and  will  elect 
a  man  as  one  of  their  rulers  for  no  other  reason  than 
that  he  is  a  millionaire.  He  aped  gentility,  lived  in 
a  palace  at  Kensington,  and  bought  a  part  of  Saotland 
to  make  a  deer  forest  of.  It  is  easy  enough  to  make 
a  deer  forest,  as  trees  are  not  necessary  there.  You 
simply  drive  off  the  peasants,  destroy  their  houses, 
and  make  a  desert  of  the  land.  However,  my  father 
did  not  shoot  much  himself  ;  he  generally  let  the 
forest  out  by  the  season  to  those  who  did.  He  pur- 
chased a  wife  of  gentle  blood  too,  with  the  unsatis- 
factory result  now  before  you.  That  is  how  Jesse 
Trefusis,  a  poor  Manchester  bagman,  contrived  to  be- 
come a  plutocrat  and  gentleman  of  landed  estate. 

103 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

And  also  how  I,  who  never  did  a  stroke  of  work  in 
my  life,  am  overburdened  with  wealth;  whilst  the 
children  of  the  men  who  made  that  wealth  are  slav- 
ing as  their  fathers  slaved,  or  starving,  or  in  the  work- 
house, or  on  the  streets,  or  the  deuce  knows  where. 
What  do  you  think  of  that,  my  love  ? '' 

"  What  is  the  use  of  worrying  about  it,  Sidney?  It 
cannot  be  helped  now.  Besides,  if  your  father  saved 
money,  and  the  others  were  improvident,  he  deserved 
to  make  a  fortune." 

^'  Granted;  but  he  didn't  make  a  fortune.  He  took 
a  fortune  that  others  made.  At  Cambridge  they 
taught  me  that  his  profits  were  the  reward  of  absti- 
nence— the  abstinence  which  enabled  him  to  save. 
That  quieted  my  conscience  until  I  began  to  wonder 
why  one  man  should  make  another  pay  him  for  exer- 
cising one  of  the  virtues.  Then  came  the  question: 
what  did  my  father  abstain  from?  The  workmen  ab- 
stained from  meat,  drink,  fresh  air,  good  clothes,  de- 
cent lodging,  holidays,  money,  the  society  of  their 
families,  and  pretty  nearly  everything  that  makes  life 
worth  living,  which  was  perhaps  the  reason  why  they 
usually  died  twenty  years  or  so  sooner  than  people  in 
our  circumstances.  Yet  no  one  rewarded  them  for 
their  abstinence.  The  reward  came  to  my  father, 
who  abstained  from  none  of  these  things,  but  in- 
dulged in  them  all  to  his  heart's  content.  Besides, 
if  the  money  was  the  reward  of  abstinence,  it  seemed 
logical  to  infer  that  he  must  abstain  ten  times  as 
much  when  he  had  fifty  thousand  a  year  as  when  he 

103 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

had  only  five  thousand.  Here  was  a  problem  for  my 
young  mind.  Eequired,  something  from  which  my 
father  abstained  and  in  which  his  workmen  exceeded, 
and  which  he  abstained  from  more  and  more  as  he 
grew  richer  and  richer.  The  only  thing  that  an- 
swered this  description  was  hard  work,  and  as  I  never 
met  a  sane  man  willing  to  pay  another  for  idling,  I 
began  to  see  that  these  prodigious  payments  to  my 
father  were  extorted  by  force.  To  do  him  justice,  he 
never  boasted  of  abstinence.  He  considered  himself 
a  hard-worked  man,  and  claimed  his  fortune  as  the 
reward  of  his  risks,  his  calculations,  his  anxieties,  and 
the  journeys  he  had  to  make  at  all  seasons  and  at  all 
hours.  This  comforted  me  somewhat  until  it  oc- 
curred to  me  that  if  he  had  lived  a  century  earlier, 
invested  his  money  in  a  horse  and  a  pair  of  pistols, 
and  taken  to  the  road,  his  object — that  of  wresting 
from  others  the  fruits  of  their  labor  without  render- 
ing them  an  equivalent — would  have  been  exactly  the 
same,  and  his  risk  far  greater,  for  it  would  have  in- 
cluded risk  of  the  gallows.  Constant  travelling  with 
the  constable  at  his  heels,  and  calculations  of  the 
chances  of  robbing  the  Dover  mail,  would  have  given 
him  his  fill  of  activity  and  anxiety.  On  the  whole,  if 
Jesse  Trefusis,  M.P.,  who  died  a  millionaire  in  his 
palace  at  Kensington,  had  been  a  highwayman,  I 
could  not  more  heartily  loathe  the  social  arrange- 
ments that  rendered  such  a  career  as  his  not  only 
possible,  but  eminently  creditable  to  himself  in  the 
eyes  of  his  fellows.  Most  men  make  it  their  business 
104 


An  Unsocial  Socialist  ' 

to  imitate  him,  hoping  to  become  rich  and  idle  on 
the  same  terms.  Therefore  I  turn  my  back  on  them. 
I  cannot  sit  at  their  feasts  knowing  how  much  they 
cost  in  human  misery,  and  seeing  how  little  they  pro- 
duce of  human  happiness.  What  is  your  opinion,  my 
treasure?  " 

Henrietta  seemed  a  little  troubled.  She  smiled 
faintly,  and  said  caressingly,  "  It  was  not  your  fault, 
Sidney.     I  don't  blame  you." 

"  Immortal  powers!  "  he  exclaimed,  sitting  bolt  up- 
right and  appealing  to  the  skies,  "  here  is  a  woman 
who  believes  that  the  only  concern  all  this  causes  me 
is  whether  she  thinks  any  the  worse  of  me  personally 
on  account  of  it!  " 

"  No,  no,  Sidney.  It  is  not  I  alone.  Nobody 
thinks  the  worse  of  you  for  it." 

"  Quite  so,"  he  returned,  in  a  polite  frenzy.  "  No- 
body sees  any  harm  in  it.  That  is  precisely  the  mis- 
chief of  it." 

"Besides,"  she  urged,  "your  mother  belonged  to 
one  of  the  oldest  families  in  England." 

"  And  what  more  can  man  desire  than  wealth  with 
descent  from  a  county  family!  Could  a  man  be  hap- 
pier than  I  ought  to  be,  sprung  as  I  am  from  monopo- 
lists of  all  the  sources  and  instruments  of  production 
— of  land  on  the  one  side,  and  of  machinery  on  the 
other?  This  very  ground  on  which  we  are  resting 
was  the  property  of  my  mother's  father.  At  least  the 
law  allowed  him  to  use  it  as  such.  When  he  was  a 
boy,  there  was  a  fairly  prosperous  race  of  peasants  set- 

105 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

tied  here,  tilling  the  soil,  paying  him  rent  for  permis- 
sion to  do  so,  and  making  enough  out  of  it  to  satisfy 
his  large  wants  and  their  own  narrow  needs  without 
working  themselves  to  death.  But  my  grandfather 
was  a  shrewd  man.  He  perceived  that  cows  and  sheep 
produced  more  money  by  their  meat  and  wool  than 
peasants  by  their  husbandry.  So  he  cleared  the  es- 
tate. That  is,  he  drove  the  peasants  from  their 
homes,  as  my  father  did  afterwards  in  his  Scotch  deer 
forest.  Or,  as  his  tombstone  has  it,  he  developed  the 
resources  of  his  country.  I  don't  know  what  became 
of  the  peasants;  lie  didn't  know,  and,  I  presume, 
didn't  care.  I  suppose  the  old  ones  went  into  the 
workhouse,  and  the  young  ones  crowded  the  towns, 
and  worked  for  men  like  my  father  in  factories. 
Their  places  were  taken  by  cattle,  which  paid  for 
their  food  so  well  that  my  grandfather,  getting  my 
father  to  take  shares  in  the  enterprise,  hired  laborers 
on  the  Manchester  terms  to  cut  that  canal  for  him. 
When  it  was  made,  he  took  toll  upon  it;  and  his  heirs 
still  take  toll,  and  the  sons  of  the  navvies  who  dug  it 
and  of  the  engineer  who  designed  it  pay  the  toll  when 
they  have  occasion  to  travel  by  it,  or  to  purchase  goods 
which  have  been  conveyed  along  it.  I  remember  my 
grandfather  well.  He  was  a  well-bred  man,  and  a 
perfect  gentleman  in  his  manners;  but,  on  the  whole, 
I  think  he  was  wickeder  than  my  father,  who,  after 
all,  was  caught  in  the  wheels  of  a  vicious  system,  and 
had  either  to  spoil  others  or  be  spoiled  by  them.  But 
my  grandfather — the  old  rascal! — was  in  no  such  di- 

106 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

lemma.  Master  as  he  was  of  his  bit  of  merry  Eng- 
land, no  man  could  have  enslaved  him,  and  he  might 
at  least  have  lived  and  let  live.  My  father  followed 
his  example  in  the  matter  of  the  deer  forest,  but  that 
was  the  climax  of  his  wickedness,  whereas  it  was  only 
the  beginning  of  my  grandfather's.  Howbeit,  which- 
ever bears  the  palm,  there  they  were,  the  types  after 
which  we  all  strive." 

"  Not  all,  Sidney.  Not  we  two.  I  hate  trades- 
people and  country  squires.  "We  belong  to  the  artis- 
tic and  cultured  classes,  and  we  can  keep  aloof  from 
shopkeepers." 

"  Living,  meanwhile,  at  the  rate  of  several  thou- 
sand a  year  on  rent  and  interest.  No,  my  dear,  this 
is  the  way  of  those  people  who  insist  that  when  they 
are  in  heaven  they  shall  be  spared  the  recollection  of 
such  a  place  as  hell,  but  are  quite  content  that  it  shall 
exist  outside  their  consciousness.  I  respect  my  father 
more — I  mean  I  despise  him  less — for  doing  his  own 
sweating  and  filching  than  I  do  the  sensitive  slug- 
gards and  cowards  who  lent  him  their  money  to  sweat 
and  filch  with,  and  asked  no  questions  provided  the 
Interest  was  paid  punctually.  And  as  to  your  friends 
the  artists,  they  are  the  worst  of  all." 

"  Oh,  Sidney,  you  are  determined  not  to  be  pleased. 
Artists  don't  keep  factories." 

"  No;  but  the  factory  is  only  a  part  of  the  machin- 
ery of  the  system.  Its  basis  is  the  tyranny  of  brain 
force,  which,  among  civilized  men,  is  allowed  to  do 
what  muscular  force  does  among  schoolboys  and  sav- 

lOT 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

ages.  The  schoolboy  proposition  is:  '  I  am  stronger 
than  you,  therefore  you  shall  fag  for  me.'  Its  grown- 
up form  is:  ^I  am  cleverer  than  you,  therefore  you 
shall  fag  for  me.'  The  state  of  things  we  produce  by 
submitting  to  this,  bad  enough  even  at  first,  becomes 
intolerable  when  the  mediocre  or  foolish  descendants 
of  the  clever  fellows  claim  to  have  inherited  their 
privileges.  Now,  no  men  are  greater  sticklers  for  the 
arbitrary  dominion  of  genius  and  talent  than  your 
artists.  The  great  painter  is  not  satisfied  with  being 
sought  after  and  admired  because  his  hands  can  do 
more  than  ordinary  hands,  which  they  truly  can,  but 
he  wants  to  be  fed  as  if  his  stomach  needed  more  food 
than  ordinary  stomachs,  which  it  does  not.  A  day's 
work  is  a  day's  work,  neither  more  nor  less,  and  the 
man  who  does  it  needs  a  day's  sustenance,  a  night's 
repose,  and  due  leisure,  whether  he  be  painter  or 
ploughman.  But  the  rascal  of  a  painter,  poet,  novel- 
ist, or  other  voluptuary  in  labor,  is  not  content  with 
his  advantage  in  popular  esteem  over  the  ploughman; 
he  also  wants  an  advantage  in  money,  as  if  there  were 
more  hours  in  a  day  spent  in  the  studio  or  library  than 
in  the  field;  or  as  if  he  needed  more  food  to  enable 
him  to  do  his  work  than  the  ploughman  to  enable 
him  to  do  his.  He  talks  of  the  higher  quality  of  his 
work,  as  if  the  higher  quality  of  it  were  of  his  own 
making — as  if  it  gave  him  a  right  to  work  less  for  his 
neighbor  than  his  neighbor  works  for  him — as  if  the 
ploughman  could  not  do  better  without  him  than  he 
without  the  ploughman — as  if  the  value  of  the  most 

108 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

celebrated  pictures  has  not  been  questioned  more 
than  that  of  any  straight  furrow  in  the  arable  world 
— as  if  it  did  not  take  an  apprenticeship  of  as  many 
years  to  train  the  hand  and  eye  of  a  mason  or  black- 
smith as  of  an  artist — as  if,  in  short,  the  fellow  were 
a  god,  as  canting  brain  worshippers  have  for  years 
past  been  assuring  him  he  is.  Artists  are  the  high 
priests  of  the  modern  Moloch.  Nine  out  of  ten  of 
them  are  diseased  creatures,  just  sane  enough  to  trade 
on  their  own  neuroses.  The  only  quality  of  theirs 
which  extorts  my  respect  is  a  certain  sublime  selfish- 
ness which  makes  them  willing  to  starve  and  to  let 
their  families  starve  sooner  than  do  any  work  they 
don't  like." 

"  Indeed  you  are  quite  wrong,  Sidney.  There  was 
a  girl  at  the  Slade  school  who  supported  her  mother 
and  two  sisters  by  her  drawing.  Besides,  what  can 
you  do?     People  were  made  so." 

"  Yes;  I  was  made  a  landlord  and  capitalist  by  the 
folly  of  the  people;  but  they  can  unmake  me  if  they 
will.  Meanwhile  I  have  absolutely  no  means  of  es- 
cape from  my  position  except  by  giving  away  my 
slaves  to  fellows  who  will  use  them  no  better  than  I, 
and  becoming  a  slave  myself;  which,  if  you  please, 
you  shall  not  catch  me  doing  in  a  hurry.  No,  my 
beloved,  I  must  keep  my  foot  on  their  necks  for  your 
sake  as  well  as  for  my  own.  But  you  do  not  care 
about  all  this  prosy  stuff.  I  am  consumed  with  re- 
morse for  having  bored  my  darling.  You  want  to 
know  why  I  am  living  here  like  a  hermit  in  a  vulgar 
109 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

two-roomed  hovel  instead  of  tasting  the  delights  of 
London  society  with  my  beautiful  and  devoted  young 
wife/' 

"  But  you  don't  intend  to  stay  here,  Sidney?  " 
"  Yes,  I  do;  and  I  will  tell  you  why.  I  am  helping 
to  liberate  those  Manchester  laborers  who  were  my 
father's  slaves.  To  bring  that  about,  their  fellow 
slaves  all  over  the  world  must  unite  in  a  vast  inter- 
national association  of  men  pledged  to  share  the 
world's  work  justly;  to  share  the  produce  of  the  work 
justly;  to  yield  not  a  farthing — charity  apart — to  any 
full-grown  and  able-bodied  idler  or  malingerer,  and 
to  treat  as  vermin  in  the  commonwealth  persons  at- 
tempting to  get  more  than  their  share  of  wealth  or 
give  less  than  their  share  of  work.  This  is  a  very 
difficult  thing  to  accomplish,  because  working-men, 
like  the  people  called  their  betters,  do  not  always 
understand  their  own  interests,  and  will  often  actu- 
ally help  their  oppressors  to  exterminate  their  sa- 
viours to  the  tune  of  '  Kule  Britannia,'  or  some  such 
lying  doggerel.  We  must  educate  them  out  of  that, 
and,  meanwhile,  push  forward  the  international  asso- 
ciation of  laborers  diligently.  I  am  at  present  occu- 
pied in  propagating  its  principles.  Capitalism,  or- 
ganized for  repressive  purposes  under  pretext  of 
governing  the  nation,  would  very  soon  stop  the  asso- 
ciation if  it  understood  our  aim,  but  it  thinks  that 
we  are  engaged  in  gunpowder  plots  and  conspiracies 
to  assassinate  crowned  heads;  and  so,  whilst  the  police 
are  blundering  in  search  of  evidence  of  these,  our  real 

110 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

work  goes  on  unmolested.  Whether  I  am  really  ad- 
vancing the  cause  is  more  than  I  can  say.  I  use  heaps 
of  postage  stamps,  pay  the  expenses  of  many  indif- 
ferent lecturers,  defray  the  cost  of  printing  reams  of 
pamphlets  and  hand-bills  which  hail  the  laborer  flat- 
teringly as  the  salt  of  the  earth,  write  and  edit  a  little 
socialist  journal,  and  do  what  lies  in  my  power  gener- 
ally. I  had  rather  spend  my  ill-gotten  wealth  in  this 
way  than  upon  an  expensive  house  and  a  retinue  of 
servants.  And  I  prefer  my  corduroys  and  my  two- 
roomed  chalet  here  to  our  pretty  little  house,  and 
your  pretty  little  ways,  and  my  pretty  little  neglect  of 
the  work  that  my  heart  is  set  upon.  Some  day,  per- 
haps, I  will  take  a  holiday;  and  then  we  shall  have 
a  new  honeymoon." 

For  a  moment  Henrietta  seemed  about  to  cry. 
Suddenly  she  exclaimed  with  enthusiasm:  "I  will 
stay  with  you,  Sidney.  I  will  share  your  work,  what- 
ever it  may  be.  I  will  dress  as  a  dairymaid,  and  have 
a  little  pail  to  carry  milk  in.  The  world  is  nothing 
to  me  except  when  you  are  with  me;  and  I  should 
love  to  live  here  and  sketch  from  nature." 

He  blenched,  and  partially  rose,  unable  to  conceal 
his  dismay.  She,  resolved  not  to  be  cast  off,  seized 
him  and  clung  to  him.  This  was  the  movement  that 
excited  the  derision  of  Wickens's  boy  in  the  adjacent 
gravel  pit.  Trefusis  was  glad  of  the  interruption; 
and,  when  he  gave  the  boy  twopence  and  bade  him 
begone,  half  hoped  that  he  would  insist  on  remaining. 
But  though  an  obdurate  boy  on  most  occasions,  he 

111 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

proved  complaisant  on  this,  and  withdrew  to  the 
high  road,  where  he  made  over  one  of  his  pennies 
to  a  phantom  gamhler,  and  tossed  with  him  until 
recalled  from  his  dual  state  by  the  appearance  of 
Fairholme's  party. 

In  the  meantime,  Henrietta  urgently  returned  to 
her  proposition. 

"We  should  be  so  happy,"  she  said.  ^^I  would 
housekeep  for  you,  and  you  could  work  as  much  as 
you  pleased.     Our  life  would  be  a  long  idyll." 

"  My  love,"  he  said,  shaking  his  head  as  she  looked 
beseechingly  at  him,  "I  have  too  much  Manchester 
cotton  in  my  constitution  for  long  idylls.  And  the 
truth  is,  that  the  first  condition  of  work  with  me 
is  your  absence.  When  you  are  with  me,  I  can  do 
nothing  but  make  love  to  you.  You  bewitch  me. 
When  I  escape  from  you  for  a  moment,  it  is  only 
to  groan  remorsefully  over  the  hours  you  have 
tempted  me  to  waste  and  the  energy  you  have  futil- 
ized." 

"  If  you  won't  live  with  me  you  had  no  right  to 
marry  me." 

"  True.  But  that  is  neither  your  fault  nor  mine. 
We  have  found  that  we  love  each  other  too  much — 
that  our  intercourse  hinders  our  usefulness — and  so 
we  must  part.  Not  for  ever,  my  dear;  only  until  you 
have  cares  and  business  of  your  own  to  fill  up  your  life 
and  prevent  you  from  wasting  mine." 

"  I  believe  you  are  mad,"  she  said  petulantly. 

"  The  world  is  mad  nowadays,  and  is  galloping  to 
112 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

the  deuce  as  fast  as  greed  can  goad  it.  I  merely  stand 
out  of  the  rush,  not  liking  its  destination.  Here 
comes  a  barge,  the  commander  of  which  is  devoted  to 
me  because  he  believes  that  I  am  organizing  a  revo- 
lution for  the  abolition  of  lock  dues  and  tolls.  We 
will  go  aboard  and  float  down  to  Lyvern,  whence  you 
can  return  to  London.  You  had  better  telegraph 
from  the  junction  to  the  college;  there  must  be  a  hue 
and  cry  out  after  us  by  this  time.  You  shall  have  my 
address,  and  we  can  write  to  one  another  or  see  one 
another  whenever  we  please.  Or  you  can  divorce  me 
for  deserting  you." 

"You  would  like  me  to,  I  know,"  said  Henrietta, 
sobbing. 

"  I  should  die  of  despair,  my  darling,"  he  said  com- 
placently. "  Ship  aho-o-o-y!  Stop  crying,  Hetty, 
for  God's  sake.     You  lacerate  my  very  soul." 

"  Ah-o-o-o-o-o-o-oy,  master! "  roared  the  bargee. 

"  Good  arternoon,  sir,"  said  a  man  who,  with  a 
short  whip  in  his  hand,  trudged  beside  the  white 
horse  that  towed  the  barge.  "  Come  up!  "  he  added 
malevolently  to  the  horse. 

"  I  want  to  get  on  board,  and  go  up  to  Lyvern  with 
you,"  said  Trefusis.  "He  seems  a  well  fed  brute, 
that." 

"  Better  fed  nor  me,"  said  the  man.  "  You  can't 
get  the  work  out  of  a  hunderfed  'orse  that  you  can 
out  of  a  hunderfed  man  or  woman.  I've  bin  in  parts 
of  England  where  women  pulled  the  barges.  They 
come  cheaper  nor  'orses,  because  it  didn't  cost 
8  113 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

nothing  to  get  new  ones  when  the  old  ones  was 
wore  out." 

"  Then  why  not  employ  them?  "  said  Trefusis,  with 
ironical  gravity.  "  The  principle  of  buying  labor- 
force  in  the  cheapest  market  and  selling  its  product 
in  the  dearest  has  done  much  to  make  Englishmen — 
what  they  are." 

^^  The  railway  comp'nies  keeps  'orspittles  for  the 
like  of  Hm"  said  the  man,  with  a  cunning  laugh,  in- 
dicating the  horse  by  smacking  him  on  the  belly  with 
the  butt  of  the  whip.  "  If  ever  you  try  bein'  a  laborer 
in  earnest,  governor,  try  it  on  four  legs.  You'll  find 
it  far  preferable  to  trying  on  two." 

"  This  man  is  one  of  my  converts,"  said  Trefusis 
apart  to  Henrietta.  ^'  He  told  me  the  other  day  that 
since  I  set  him  thinking  he  never  sees  a  gentleman 
without  feeling  inclined  to  heave  a  brick  at  him.  I 
find  that  socialism  is  often  misunderstood  by  its  least 
intelligent  supporters  and  opponents  to  mean  simply 
unrestrained  indulgence  of  our  natural  propensity  to 
heave  bricks  at  respectable  persons.  Now  I  am  going 
to  carry  you  along  this  plank. .  If  you  keep  quiet,  we 
may  reach  the  barge.  If  not,  we  shall  reach  the  bot- 
tom of  the  canal." 

He  carried  her  safely  over,  and  exchanged  some 
friendly  words  with  the  bargee.  Then  he  took  Hen- 
rietta forward,  and  stood  watching  the  water  as  they 
were  borne  along  noiselessly  between  the  hilly  pas- 
tures of  the  country. 

"  This  would  be  a  fairy  journey,"  he  said,  "  if  one 
114 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

could  forget  the  woman  down  below,  cooking  her  hus- 
band's dinner  in  a  stifling  hole  about  as  big  as  your 
wardrobe,  and " 

"  Oh,  don't  talk  any  more  of  these  things,"  she 
said  crossly;  "  I  cannot  help  them.  I  have  my  own 
troubles  to  think  of.     Her  husband  lives  with  her." 

"  She  will  change  places  with  you,  my  dear,  if  you 
make  her  the  offer." 

She  had  no  answer  ready.  After  a  pause  he  began 
to  speak  poetically  of  the  scenery  and  to  offer  her 
loverlike  speeches  and  compliments.  But  she  felt 
that  he  intended  to  get  rid  of  her,  and  he  knew  that 
it  was  useless  to  try  to  hide  that  design  from  her. 
She  turned  away  and  sat  down  on  a  pile  of  bricks, 
only  writhing  angrily  when  he  pressed  her  for  a  word. 
As  they  neared  the  end  of  her  voyage,  and  her  intense 
protest  against  desertion  remained,  as  she  thought, 
only  half  expressed,  her  sense  of  injury  grew  almost 
unbearable. 

They  landed  on  a  wharf,  and  went  through  an  un- 
swept,  deeply-rutted  lane  up  to  the  main  street  of 
Lyvem.  Here  he  became  Smilash  again,  walking 
deferentially  a  little  before  her,  as  if  she  had  hired 
him  to  point  out  the  way.  She  then  saw  that  her  last 
opportunity  of  appealing  to  him  had  gone  by,  and  she 
nearly  burst  into  tears  at  the  thought.  It  occurred 
to  her  that  she  might  prevail  upon  him  by  making  a 
scene  in  public.  But  the  street  was  a  busy  one,  and 
she  was  a  little  afraid  of  him.  Neither  consideration 
would  have  checked  her  in  one  of  her  ungovernable 

115 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

moods,  but  now  she  was  in  an  abject  one.  Her  moods 
seemed  to  come  only  when  they  were  harmful  to  her. 
She  suffered  herself  to  be  put  into  the  railway  omni- 
bus, which  was  on  the  point  of  starting  from  the  inn- 
yard  when  they  arrived  there,  and  though  he  touched 
his  hat,  asked  whether  she  had  any  message  to  give 
him,  and  in  a  tender  whisper  wished  her  a  safe  jour- 
ney, she  would  not  look  at  or  speak  to  him.  So  they 
parted,  and  he  returned  alone  to  the  chalet,  where  he 
was  received  by  the  two  policemen  who  subsequently 
brought  him  to  the  college. 


116 


CHAPTEE   VI 

The  year  wore  on,  and  the  long  winter  evenings  set 
in.  The  studious  young  ladies  at  Alton  College,  el- 
bows on  desk  and  hands  over,  ears,  shuddered  chillily 
in  fur  tippets  whilst  they  loaded  their  memories  with 
the  statements  of  writers  on  moral  science,  or,  like 
men  who  swim  upon  corks,  reasoned  out  mathemati- 
cal problems  upon  postulates.  Whence  it  sometimes 
happened  that  the  more  reasonable  a  student  was  in 
mathematics,  the  more  unreasonable  she  was  in  the 
affairs  of  real  life,  concerning  which  few  trustworthy 
postulates  have  yet  been  ascertained. 

Agatha,  not  studious,  and  apt  to  shiver  in  winter, 
began  to  break  Rule  No.  17  with  increasing  fre- 
quency. Rule  No.  17  forbade  the  students  to  enter 
the  kitchen,  or  in  any  way  to  disturb  the  servants  in 
the  discharge  of  their  duties.  Agatha  broke  it  be- 
cause she  was  fond  of  making  toffee,  of  eating  it,  of 
a  good  fire,  of  doing  any  forbidden  thing,  and  of  the 
admiration  with  which  the  servants  listened  to  her 
ventriloquial  and  musical  feats.  Gertrude  accom- 
panied her  because  she  too  liked  toffee,  and  because 
she  plumed  herself  on  her  condescension  to  her  in- 
feriors. Jane  went  because  her  two  friends  went,  and 
the  spirit  of  adventure,  the  force  of  example,  and  the 

117 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

love  of  toft'ee  often  brought  more  volunteers  to  these 
expeditions  than  Agatha  thought  it  safe  to  enlist. 
One  evening  Miss  Wilson,  going  downstairs  alone  to 
her  private  wine  cellar,  was  arrested  near  the  kitchen 
by  sounds  of  revelry,  and,  stopping  to  listen,  over- 
heard the  Castanet  dance  (which  reminded  her  of  the 
emphasis  with  which  Agatha  had  snapped  her  fingers 
at  Mrs.  Miller),  the  bee  on  the  window  pane,  "  Robin 
Adair  ^'  (encored  by  the  servants),  and  an  imitation 
of  herself  in  the  act  of  appealing  to  Jane  Carpenter's 
better  nature  to  induce  her  to  study  for  the  Cam- 
bridge Local.  She  waited  until  the  cold  and  her  fear 
of  being  discovered  spying  forced  her  to  creep  up- 
stairs, ashamed  of  having  enjoyed  a  silly  entertain- 
ment, and  of  conniving  at  a  breach  of  the  rules  rather 
than  face  a  fresh  quarrel  with  Agatha. 

There  was  one  particular  in  which  matters  between 
Agatha  and  the  college  discipline  did  not  go  on  ex- 
actly as  before.  Although  she  had  formerly  supplied 
a  disproportionately  large  number  of  the  confessions 
in  the  fault  book,  the  entry  which  had  nearly  led  to 
her  expulsion  was  the  last  she  ever  made  in  it.  Not 
that  her  conduct  was  better — it  was  rather  the  reverse. 
Miss  Wilson  never  mentioned  the  matter,  the  fault 
book  being  sacred  from  all  allusion  on  her  part.  But 
she  saw  that  though  Agatha  would  not  confess  her 
own  sins,  she  still  assisted  others  to  unburden  their 
consciences.  The  witticisms  with  which  Jane  unsus- 
pectingly enlivened  the  pages  of  the  Recording  Angel 
were  conclusive  on  this  point. 

118 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

Smilash  had  now  adopted  a  profession.  In  the  last 
days  of  autumn  he  had  whitewashed  the  chalet, 
painted  the  doors,  windows,  and  veranda,  repaired 
the  roof  and  interior,  and  improved  the  place  so  much 
that  the  landlord  had  warned  him  that  the  rent  would 
be  raised  at  the  expiration  of  his  twelvemonth's  ten- 
anc}^,  remarking  that  a  tenant  could  not  reasonably 
expect  to  have  a  pretty,  rain-tight  dwelling-house  for 
the  same  money  as  a  hardly  habitable  ruin.  Smilash 
had  immediately  promised  to  dilapidate  it  to  its  for- 
mer state  at  the  end  of  the  year.  He  had  put  up  a 
board  at  the  gate  with  an  inscription  copied  from 
some  printed  cards  which  he  presented  to  persons  who 
happened  to  converse  with  him. 


JEFFERSON    SMILASH 

Painter,  Decorator,  Glazier,  Plumber  &  Gardener. 

Pianofortes  tuned.     Domestic  Engineering  in  all 

its  Branches,     families  waited  upon 

at  table  or  otherwise. 

Chamounix  Villa, 

(N.  B.-Advice  Gratis.  LyVERN". 

Wo  reasonable  qffer  refused.) 


The  business  thus  announced,  comprehensive  as  it 
was,  did  not  flourish.  When  asked  by  the  curious  for 
testimony  to  his  competence  and  respectability,  he 

119 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

recklessly  referred  them  to  Fairholme,  to  Josephs, 
and  in  particular  to  Miss  Wilson,  who,  he  said,  had 
known  him  from  his  earliest  childhood.  Fairholme, 
glad  of  an  opportunity  to  show  that  he  was  no  mealy- 
mouthed  parson,  declared,  when  applied  to,  that  Smi- 
lash  was  the  greatest  rogue  in  the  country.  Josephs, 
partly  from  benevolence,  and  partly  from  a  vague 
fear  that  Smilash  might  at  any  moment  take  an  action 
against  him  for  defamation  of  character,  said  he  had 
no  doubt  that  he  was  a  very  cheap  workman,  and  that 
it  would  be  a  charity  to  give  him  some  little  job  to  en- 
courage him.  Miss  Wilson  confirmed  Fairholme's  ac- 
count; and  the  church  organist,  who  had  tuned  all  the 
pianofortes  in  the  neighborhood  once  a  year  for  nearly 
a  quarter  of  a  century,  denounced  the  newcomer  as 
Jack  of  all  trades  and  master  of  none.  Hereupon 
the  radicals  of  Lyvem,  a  small  and  disreputable  party, 
began  to  assert  that  there  was  no  harm  in  the  man, 
and  that  the  parsons  and  Miss  Wilson,  who  lived  in  a 
fine  house  and  did  nothing  but  take  in  the  daughters 
of  rich  swells  as  boarders,  might  employ  their  leisure 
better  than  in  taking  the  bread  out  of  a  poor  work- 
man's mouth.  But  as  none  of  this  faction  needed 
the  services  of  a  domestic  engineer,  he  was  none  the 
richer  for  their  support,  and  the  only  patron  he  ob- 
tained was  a  housemaid  who  was  leaving  her  situation 
at  a  country  house  in  the  vicinity,  and  wanted  her  box 
repaired,  the  lid  having  fallen  off.  Smilash  de- 
manded half-a-crown  for  the  job,  but  on  her  demur- 
ring, immediately  apologized  and  came  down  to  a 

120 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

shilling.  For  this  sum  he  repainted  the  box,  traced 
her  initials  on  it,  and  affixed  new  hinges,  a  Bramah 
lock,  and  brass  handles,  at  a  cost  to  himself  of  ten 
shillings  and  several  hours'  labor.  The  housemaid 
found  fault  with  the  color  of  the  paint,  made  him 
take  off  the  handles,  which,  she  said,  reminded  her 
of  a  coffin,  complained  that  a  lock  with  such  a  small 
key  couldn't  be  strong  enough  for  a  large  box,  but 
admitted  that  it  was  all  her  own  fault  for  not  employ- 
ing a  proper  man.  It  got  about  that  he  had  made 
a  poor  job  of  the  box;  and  as  he,  when  taxed  with  this, 
emphatically  confirmed  it,  he  got  no  other  commis- 
sion; and  his  signboard  served  thenceforth  only  for 
the  amusement  of  pedestrian  tourists  and  of  shepherd 
boys  with  a  taste  for  stone  throwing. 

One  night  a  great  storm  blew  over  Lyvern,  and 
those  young  ladies  at  Alton  College  who  were  afraid 
of  lightning,  said  their  prayers  with  some  earnestness. 
At  half -past  twelve  the  rain,  wind,  and  thunder  made 
such  a  din  that  Agatha  and  Gertrude  wrapped  them- 
selves in  shawls,  stole  downstairs  to  the  window  on 
the  landing  outside  Miss  Wilson's  study,  and  stood 
watching  the  flashes  give  vivid  glimpses  of  the  land- 
scape, and  discussing  in  whispers  whether  it  was  dan- 
gerous to  stand  near  a  window,  and  whether  brass 
stair-rods  could  attract  lightning.  Agatha,  as  serious 
arid  friendly  with  a  single  companion  as  she  was  mis- 
chievous and  satirical  before  a  larger  audience,  en- 
joyed the  scene  quietly.  The  lightning  did  not  ter- 
rify her,  for  she  knew  little  of  the  value  of  life,  and 

121 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

fancied  much  concerning  the  heroism  of  being  in- 
different to  it.  The  tremors  which  the  more  startling 
flashes  caused  her,  only  made  her  more  conscious  of 
her  own  courage  and  its  contrast  with  the  uneasiness 
of  Gertrude,  who  at  last,  shrinking  from  a  forked  zig- 
zag of  blue  flame,  said: 

"  Let  us  go  back  to  bed,  Agatha.  I  feel  sure  that 
we  are  not  safe  here." 

"  Quite  as  safe  as  in  bed,  where  we  cannot  see  any- 
thing. How  the  house  shakes!  I  believe  the  rain 
will  batter  in  the  windows  before " 

"  Hush,"  whispered  Gertrude,  catching  her  arm  in 
terror.     "What  was  that?" 

"What?" 

"  I  am  sure  I  heard  the  bell — the  gate  bell.  Oh, 
do  let  us  go  back  to  bed." 

"Nonsense!  Who  would  be  out  on  such  a  night 
as  this?     Perhaps  the  wind  rang  it." 

They  waited  for  a  few  moments;  Gertrude  trem- 
bling, and  Agatha  feeling,  as  she  listened  in  the  dark- 
ness, a  sensation  familiar  to  persons  who  are  afraid 
of  ghosts.  Presently  a  veiled  clangor  mingled  with 
the  wind.  A  few  sharp  and  urgent  snatches  of  it  came 
unmistakably  from  the  bell  at  the  gate  of  the  college 
grounds.  It  was  a  loud  bell,  used  to  summon  a  ser- 
vant from  the  college  to  open  the  gates;  for  though 
there  was  a  porter's  lodge,  it  was  uninhabited. 

"  Who  on  earth  can  it  be?  "  said  Agatha.  "  Can't 
they  find  the  wicket,  the  idiots?  " 

"  Oh,  I  hope  not!     Do  come  upstairs,  Agatha," 
122 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"  No,  I  won't.  Go  you,  if  you  like."  But  Ger- 
trude was  afraid  to  go  alone.  "  I  think  I  had  better 
waken  Miss  Wilson,  and  tell  her,"  continued  Agatha. 
"  It  seems  awful  to  shut  anybody  out  on  such  a  night 
as  this." 

"  But  we  don't  know  who  it  is." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  you  are  not  afraid  of  them,  in 
any  case,"  said  Agatha,  knowing  the  contrary,  but 
recognizing  the  convenience  of  shaming  Gertrude  into 
silence. 

They  listened  again.  The  storm  was  now  very  bois- 
terous, and  they  could  not  hear  the  bell.  Suddenly 
there  was  a  loud  knocking  at  the  house  door.  Ger- 
trude screamed,  and  her  cry  was  echoed  from  the 
rooms  above,  where  several  girls  had  heard  the  knock- 
ing also,  and  had  been  driven  by  it  into  the  state  of 
mind  which  accompanies  the  climax  of  a  nightmare. 
Then  a  candle  flickered  on  the  stairs,  and  Miss  Wil- 
son's voice,  reassuringly  firm,  was  heard. 

"Who  is  that?" 

"It  is  I,  Miss  Wilson,  and  Gertrude.  We  have 
been  watching  the  storm,  and  there  is  some  one  knock- 
ing at  the "      A  tremendous  battery  with  the 

knocker,  followed  by  a  sound,  confused  by  the  gale, 
as  of  a  man  shouting,  interrupted  her. 

"  They  had  better  not  open  the  door,"  said  Miss 
Wilson,  in  some  alarm.  "  You  are  very  imprudent, 
Agatha,  to  stand  here.  You  will  catch  your  death 
of Dear  me!     What  can  be  the  matter?  " 

She  hurried  down,  followed  by  Agatha,  Gertrude, 
123 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

and  some  of  the  braver  students,  to  the  hall,  where 
they  found  a  few  shivering  servants  watching  the 
housekeeper,  who  was  at  the  keyhole  of  the  house 
door,  querulously  asking  who  was  there.  She  was 
evidently  not  heard  by  those  without,  for  the  knock- 
ing recommenced  whilst  she  was  speaking,  and  she 
recoiled  as  if  she  had  received  a  blow  on  the  mouth. 
Miss  Wilson  then  rattled  the  chain  to  attract  atten- 
tion, and  demanded  again  who  was  there. 

"Let  us  in,"  was  returned  in  a  hollow  shout  through 
the  keyhole.  "  There  is  a  dying  woman  and  three 
children  here.     Open  the  door." 

Miss  Wilson  lost  her  presence  of  mind.  To  gain 
time,  she  replied,  "  I — I  can't  hear  you.  What  do  you 
say?" 

"  Damnation! "  said  the  voice,  speaking  this  time 
to  some  one  outside.  "  They  can't  hear."  And  the 
knocking  recommenced  with  increased  urgency. 
Agatha,  excited,  caught  Miss  Wilson's  dressing  gown, 
and  repeated  to  her  what  the  voice  had  said.  Miss 
Wilson  had  heard  distinctly  enough,  and  she  felt, 
without  knowing  clearly  why,  that  the  door  must  be 
opened,  but  she  was  almost  over-mastered  by  a  vague 
dread  of  what  was  to  follow.  She  began  to  undo  the 
chain,  and  Agatha  helped  with  the  bolts.  Two  of  the 
servants  exclaimed  that  they  were  all  about  to  be 
murdered  in  their  beds,  and  ran  away.  A  few  of  the 
students  seemed  inclined  to  follow  their  example.  At 
last  the  door,  loosed,  was  blown  wide  open,  flinging 
Miss  Wilson  and  Agatha  back,  and  admitting  a  whirl- 

124 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

wind  that  tore  round  the  hall,  snatched  at  the 
women's  draperies,  and  blew  out  the  lights.  Agatha, 
by  a  flash  of  lightning,  saw  for  an  instant  two 
men  straining  at  the  door  like  sailors  at  a  capstan. 
Then  she  knew  by  the  cessation  of  the  whirlwind 
that  they  had  shut  it.  Matches  were  struck,  the 
candles  relighted,  and  the  newcomers  clearly 
perceived. 

Smilash,  bareheaded,  without  a  coat,  his  corduroy 
vest  and  trousers  heavy  with  rain;  a  rough-looking, 
middle-aged  man,  poorly  dressed  like  a  shepherd,  wet 
as  Smilash,  with  the  expression,  piteous,  patient,  and 
desperate,  of  one  hard  driven  by  ill-fortune,  and  at 
the  end  of  his  resources;  two  little  children,  a  boy 
and  a  girl,  almost  naked,  cowering  under  an  old  sack 
that  had  served  them  as  an  umbrella;  and,  lying  on 
the  settee  where  the  two  men  had  laid  it,  a  heap  of 
wretched  wearing  apparel,  sacking,  and  rotten  mat- 
ting, with  Smilash's  coat  and  sou'wester,  the  whole 
covering  a  bundle  which  presently  proved  to  be  an 
exhausted  woman  with  a  tiny  infant  at  her  breast. 
Smilash's  expression,  as  he  looked  at  her,  was  fero- 
cious. 

"  Sorry  fur  to  trouble  you,  lady,"  said  the  man,  after 
glancing  anxiously  at  Smilash,  as  if  he  had  expected 
him  to  act  as  spokesman;  "  but  my  roof  and  the  side 
of  my  house  has  gone  in  the  storm,  and  my  missus 
has  been  having  another  little  one,  and  I  am  sorry  to 
ill-convenience  you,  Miss;  but — but " 

"  Inconvenience!  "  exclaimed  Smilash.  "  It  is  the 
195 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

lady's  privilege  to  relieve  you — her  highest  privi- 
lege! " 

The  little  boy  here  began  to  cry  from  mere  misery, 
and  the  woman  roused  herself  to  say,  "  For  shame, 
Tom!  before  the  lady,"  and  then  collapsed,  too  weak 
to  care  for  what  might  happen  next  in  the  world. 
Smilash  looked  impatiently  at  Miss  Wilson,  who  hesi- 
tated, and  said  to  him: 

"  What  do  you  expect  me  to  do?  " 

"To  help  us,"  he  replied.  Then,  with  an  explo- 
sion of  nervous  energy,  he  added:  "Do  what  your 
heart  tells  you  to  do.  Give  your  bed  and  your  clothes 
to  the  woman,  and  let  your  girls  pitch  their  books  to 
the  devil  for  a  few  days  and  make  something  for  these 
poor  little  creatures  to  wear.  The  poor  have  worked 
hard  enough  to  clothe  them.  Let  them  take  theii 
turn  now  and  clothe  the  poor." 

"  No,  no.  Steady,  master,"  said  the  man,  stepping 
forward  to  propitiate  Miss  Wilson,  and  evidently 
much  oppressed  by  a  sense  of  unwelcomeness.  "  It 
ain't  any  fault  of  the  lady's.  Might  I  make  so  bold 
as  to  ask  you  to  put  this  womaii  of  mine  anywhere 
that  may  be  convenient  until  morning.  Any  sort  of 
a  place  will  do;  she's  accustomed  to  rough  it.  Just 
to  have  a  roof  over  her  until  I  find  a  room  in  the  vil- 
lage where  we  can  shake  down."  Here,  led  by  his 
own  words  to  contemplate  the  future,  he  looked  deso- 
lately round  the  cornice  of  the  hall,  as  if  it  were  a 
shelf  on  which  somebody  might  have  left  a  suitable 
lodging  for  him. 

126 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

Miss  Wilson  turned  her  back  decisively  and  con- 
temptuously on  Smilash.  She  had  recovered  herself. 
"  I  will  keep  your  wife  here/^  she  said  to  the  man. 
"  Every  care  shall  be  taken  of  her.  The  children  can 
stay  too.'^ 

"  Three  cheers  for  moral  science! "  cried  Smilash, 
ecstatically  breaking  into  the  outrageous  dialect  he 
had  forgotten  in  his  wrath.  "  Wot  was  my  words  to 
you,  neighbor,  when  I  said  we  should  bring  your  mis- 
sus to  the  college,  and  you  said,  ironical-like,  '  Aye, 
and  bloomin'  glad  they'll  be  to  see  us  there.'  Did  I 
not  say  to  you  that  the  lady  had  a  noble  'art,  and 
would  show  it  when  put  to  the  test  by  sech  a  calamity 
as  this?" 

"  Why  should  you  bring  my  hasty  words  up  again' 
me  now,  master,  when  the  lady  has  been  so  kind?" 
said  the  man  with  emotion.  "  I  am  humbly  grateful 
to  you.  Miss;  and  so  is  Bess.  We  are  sensible  of  the 
ill-convenience  we " 

Miss  Wilson,  who  had  been  conferring  with  the 
housekeeper,  cut  his  speech  short  by  ordering  him  to 
carry  his  wife  to  bed,  which  he  did  with  the  assistance 
of  Smilash,  now  jubilant.  Whilst  they  were  away, 
one  of  the  servants,  bidden  to  bring  some  blankets  to 
the  woman's  room,  refused,  saying  that  she  was  not  go- 
ing to  wait  on  that  sort  of  people.  Miss  Wilson  gave 
her  warning  almost  fiercely  to  quit  the  college  next  day. 
This  excepted,  no  ill-will  was  shown  to  the  refugees. 
The  young  ladies  were  then  requested  to  return  to  bed. 

127 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

Meanwhile  the  man,  having  laid  his  wife  in  a 
chamber  palatial  in  comparison  with  that  which  the 
storm  had  blown  about  her  ears,  was  congratulating 
her  on  her  luck,  and  threatening  the  children  with 
the  most  violent  chastisement  if  they  failed  to  behave 
themselves  with  strict  propriety  whilst  they  remained 
in  that  house.  Before  leaving  them  he  kissed  his 
wife;  and  she,  reviving,  asked  him  to  look  at  the  baby. 
He  did  so,  and  pensively  apostrophized  it  with  a 
shocking  epithet  in  anticipation  of  the  time  when  its 
appetite  must  be  satisfied  from  the  provision  shop  in- 
stead of  from  its  mother's  breast.  She  laughed  and 
cried  shame  on  him;  and  so  they  parted  cheerfully. 
When  he  returned  to  the  hall  with  Smilash  they  found 
two  mugs  of  beer  waiting  for  them.  The  girls  had 
retired,  and  only  Miss  Wilson  and  the  housekeeper 
remained. 

"  Here's  your  health,  mum,"  said  the  man,  before 
drinking;  "  and  may  you  find  such  another  as  your- 
self to  help  you  when  you're  in  trouble,  which  Lord 
send  may  never  come!  " 

"Is  your  house  quite  destroyed?"  said  Miss  Wil- 
son.    "  Where  will  you  spend  the  night?  " 

"Don't  you  think  of  me,  mum.  Master  Smilash 
here  will  kindly  put  me  up  'til  morning." 

"  His  health!  "  said  Smilash,  touching  the  mug  with 
his  lips. 

"  The  roof  and  south  wall  is  blowed  right  away," 
continued  the  man,  after  pausing  for  a  moment  to 
138 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

puzzle  over  Smilash's  meaning.  "  I  doubt  if  there's 
a  stone  of  it  standing  by  this." 

"  But  Sir  John  will  build  it  for  you  again.  You 
are  one  of  his  herds,  are  you  not?  " 

"  I  am.  Miss.  But  not  he;  he'll  be  glad  it's  down. 
He  don't  like  people  livin'  on  the  land.  I  have  told 
him  time  and  again  that  the  place  was  ready  to  fall; 
but  he  said  I  couldn't  expect  him  to  lay  out  money 
on  a  house  that  he  got  no  rent  for.  You  see,  Miss, 
I  didn't  pay  any  rent.  I  took  low  wages;  and  the  bit 
of  a  hut  was  a  sort  of  set-off  again'  what  I  was  paid 
short  of  the  other  men.  I  couldn't  afford  to  have  it 
repaired,  though  I  did  what  I  could  to  patch  and 
prop  it.  And  now  most  like  I  shall  be  blamed  for 
letting  it  be  blew  down,  and  shall  have  to  live  in  half 
a  room  in  the  town  and  pay  two  or  three  shillin's  a 
week,  besides  walkin'  three  miles  to  and  from  my  work 
every  day.  A  gentleman  like  Sir  John  don't  hardly 
know  what  the  value  of  a  penny  is  to  us  laborin'  folk, 
nor  how  cruel  hard  his  estate  rules  and  the  like  comes 
on  us." 

"  Sir  John's  health! "  said  Smilash,  touching  the 
mug  as  before.  The  man  drank  a  mouthful  humbly, 
and  Smilash  continued,  "  Here's  to  the  glorious 
landed  gentry  of  old  England:  bless  'em! " 

"  Master  Smilash  is  only  jokin',"  said  the  man 
apologetically.     "  It's  his  way." 

"  You  should  not  bring  a  family  into  the  world  if 
you  are  so  poor,"  said  Miss  Wilson  severely.  "  Can 
9  129 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

you  not  see  that  you  impoverish  yourself  by  doing  so 
— to  put  the  matter  on  no  higher  grounds." 

"Eeverend  Mr.  Malthus's  health! "  remarked  Smi- 
lash,  repeating  his  pantomime. 

"  Some  say  it's  the  children,  and  some  say  it's  the 
drink,  Miss,"  said  the  man  submissively.  "  But  from 
what  I  see,  family  or  no  family,  drunk  or  sober,  the 
poor  gets  poorer  and  the  rich  richer  every  day." 

"Ain't  it  disgustin'  to  hear  a  man  so  ignorant  of 
the  improvement  in  the  condition  of  his  class?  "  said 
Smilash,  appealing  to  Miss  Wilson. 

"  If  you  intend  to  take  this  ^lan  home  with  you," 
she  said,  turning  sharply  on  him,  "  you  had  better  do 
it  at  once." 

"  I  take  it  kind  on  your  part  that  you  ask  me  to  do 
anythink,  after  your  up  and  telling  Mr.  Wickens  that 
I  am  the  last  person  in  Lvvern  vou  would  trust  with 
a  job." 

"  So  you  are— the  very  last.  Why  don't  you  drink 
your  beer?  " 

"  Not  in  scorn  of  your  brewing,  lady;  but  because, 
bein'  a  common  man,  water  is  good  enough  for  me." 

"  I  wish  you  good-night,  Miss,"  said  the  man;  "  and 
thank  you  kindly  for  Bess  and  the  children." 

"  Good-night,"  she  replied,  stepping  aside  to  avoid 
any  salutation  from  Smilash.  But  he  went  up  to  her 
and  said  in  a  low  voice,  and  with  the  Trefusis  manner 
and  accent: 

''  Good-night,  Miss  Wilson.  If  you  should  ever  be 
in  want  of  the  services  of  a  dog,  a  man,  or  a  domestic 

130 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

engineer,  remind  Smilash  of  Bess  and  the  children, 
and  he  will  act  for  you  in  any  of  those  capacities." 

They  opened  the  door  cautiously,  and  found  that 
the  wind,  conquered  by  the  rain,  had  abated.  Miss 
Wilson's  candle,  though  it  flickered  in  the  draught, 
was  not  extinguished  this  time;  and  she  was  presently 
left  with  the  housekeeper,  bolting  and  chaining  the 
door,  and  listening  to  the  crunching  of  feet  on  the 
gravel  outside  dying  away  through  the  steady  patter- 
ing of  the  rain. 


lai 


CHAPTER   VII 

Agatha  was  at  this  time  in  her  seventeenth  year. 
She  had  a  lively  perception  of  the  foibles  of  others, 
and  no  reverence  for  her  seniors,  whom  she  thought 
dull,  cautious,  and  ridiculously  amenable  by  common- 
places. But  she  was  subject  to  the  illusion  which 
disables  youth  in  spite  of  its  superiority  to  age.  She 
thought  herself  an  exception.  Crediting  Mr.  Jan- 
senius  and  the  general  mob  of  mankind  with  nothing 
but  a  grovelling  consciousness  of  some  few  material 
facts,  she  felt  in  herself  an  exquisite  sense  and  all- 
embracing  conception  of  nature,  shared  only  by  her 
favorite  poets  and  heroes  of  romance  and  history. 
Hence  she  was  in  the  common  youthful  case  of  being 
a  much  better  judge  of  other  people's  affairs  than  of 
her  own.  At  the  fellow-student  who  adored  some 
Henry  or  Augustus,  not  from  the  drivelling  senti- 
mentality which  the  world  calls  love,  but  because  this 
particular  Henry  or  Augustus  was  a  phoenix  to  whom 
the  laws  that  govern  the  relations  of  ordinary  lads  and 
lasses  did  not  apply,  Agatha  laughed  in  her  sleeve. 
The  more  she  saw  of  this  weakness  in  her  fellows,  the 
more  satisfied  she  was  that,  being  forewarned,  she 
was  also  forearmed  against  an  attack  of  it  on  herself. 
Much  as  if  a  doctor  were  to  conclude  that  he  could 
183 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

not  catch  smallpox  because  he  had  seen  many  cases 
of  it;  or  as  if  a  master  mariner,  knowing  that  many 
ships  are  wrecked  in  the  British  channel,  should  ven- 
ture there  without  a  pilot,  thinking  that  he  knew  its 
perils  too  well  to  run  any  risk  of  them.  Yet,  as  the 
doctor  might  hold  such  an  opinion  if  he  believed  him- 
self to  be  constituted  differently  from  ordinary  men;  or 
the  shipmaster  adopt  such  a  course  under  the  impres- 
sion that  his  vessel  was  a  star,  Agatha  found  false  se- 
curity in  the  subjective  difference  between  her  fellows 
seen  from  without  and  herself  known  from  within. 
When,  for  instance,  she  fell  in  love  with  Mr.  Jefferson 
Smilash  (a  step  upon  which  she  resolved  the  day  after 
the  storm),  her  imagination  invested  the  pleasing 
emotion  with  a  sacredness  which,  to  her,  set  it  far 
apart  and  distinct  from  the  frivolous  fancies  of  which 
Henry  and  Augustus  had  been  the  subject,  and  she  the 
confidant. 

"  I  can  look  at  him  quite  coolly  and  dispassion- 
ately," she  said  to  herself.  "  Though  his  face  has  a 
strange  influence  that  must,  I  know,  correspond  to 
some  unexplained  power  within  me,  yet  it  is  not  a  per- 
fect face.  I  have  seen  many  men  who  are,  strictly 
speaking,  far  handsomer.  If  the  light  that  never  was 
on  sea  or  land  is  in  his  eyes,  yet  they  are  not  pretty 
eyes — not  half  so  clear  as  mine.  Though  he  wears 
his  common  clothes  with  a  nameless  grace  that  be- 
trays his  true  breeding  at  every  step,  yet  he  is  not  tall, 
dark,  and  melancholy,  as  my  ideal  hero  would  be  if 
I  were  as  great  a  fool  as  girls  of  my  age  usually  are. 

133 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

If  I  am  in  love,  I  have  sense  enough  not  to  let  my  love 
blind  my  judgment." 

She  did  not  tell  anyone  of  her  new  interest  in  life. 
Strongest  in  that  student  community,  she  had  used 
her  power  with  good-nature  enough  to  win  the  popu- 
larity of  a  school  leader,  and  occasionally  with  un- 
scrupulousness  enough  to  secure  the  privileges  of  a 
school  bully.  Popularity  and  privilege,  however, 
only  satisfied  her  when  she  was  in  the  mood  for  them. 
Girls,  like  men,  want  to  be  petted,  pitied,  and  made 
much  of,  when  they  are  diffident,  in  low  spirits,  or  in 
unrequited  love.  These  are  services  which  the  weak 
cannot  render  to  the  strong  and  which  the  strong  will 
not  render  to  the  weak,  except  when  there  is  also  a 
difference  of  sex.  Agatha  knew  by  experience  that 
though  a  weak  woman  cannot  understand  why  her 
stronger  sister  should  wish  to  lean  upon  her,  she  may 
triumph  in  the  fact  without  understanding  it,  and  give 
chaff  instead  of  consolation.  Agatha  wanted  to  be 
understood  and  not  to  be  chaffed.  Finding  herself 
unable  to  satisfy  both  these  conditions,  she  resolved 
to  do  without  sympathy  and  to  hold  her  tongue.  She 
had  often  had  to  do  so  before,  and  she  was  helped  on 
this  occasion  by  a  sense  of  the  ridiculous  appearance 
her  passion  might  wear  in  the  vulgar  eye. 

Her  secret  kept  itself,  as  she  was  supposed  in  the 
college  to  be  insensible  to  the  softer  emotions.  Love 
wrought  no  external  change  upon  her.  It  made  her 
believe  that  she  had  left  her  girlhood  behind  her  and 
was  now  a  woman  with  a  newly-developed  heart  capac- 

134 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

ity  at  which  she  would  childishly  have  scoffed  a  little 
while  before.  She  felt  ashamed  of  the  bee  on  the 
window  pane,  although  it  somehow  buzzed  as  fre- 
quently as  before  in  spite  of  her.  Her  calendar,  for- 
merly a  monotonous  cycle  of  class  times,  meal  times, 
play  times,  and  bed  time,  was  now  irregularly  divided 
by  walks  past  the  chalet  and  accidental  glimpses  of  its 
tenant. 

Early  in  December  came  a  black  frost,  and  naviga- 
tion on  the  canal  was  suspended.  Wickens's  boy  was 
sent  to  the  college  with  news  that  Wickens's  pond 
would  bear,  and  that  the  young  ladies  should  be  wel- 
come at  any  time.  The  pond  was  only  four  feet 
deep3  and  as  Miss  Wilson  set  much  store  by  the  physi- 
cal education  of  her  pupils,  leave  was  given  for  skat- 
ing. Agatha,  who  was  expert  on  the  ice,  immediately 
proposed  that  a  select  party  should  go  out  before 
breakfast  next  morning.  Actions  not  in  themselves 
virtuous  often  appear  so  when  performed  at  hours 
that  compel  early  rising,  and  some  of  the  candidates 
for  the  Cambridge  Local,  who  would  not  have  sacri- 
ficed the  afternoon  to  amusement,  at  once  fell  in  with 
her  suggestion.  But  for  them  it  might  never  have 
been  carried  out;  for  when  they  summoned  Agatha, 
at  half -past  six  next  morning,  to  leave  her  warm  bed 
and  brave  the  biting  air,  she  would  have  refused  with- 
out hesitation  had  she  not  been  shamed  into  compli- 
ance by  these  laborious  ones  who  stood  by  her  bed- 
side, blue-nosed  and  hungry,  but  ready  for  the  ice. 
When  she  had  dressed  herself  with  much  shuddering 

135 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

and  chattering,  they  allayed  their  internal  discomfort 
by  a  slender  meal  of  biscuits,  got  their  skates,  and 
went  out  across  the  rimy  meadows,  past  patient  cows 
breathing  clouds  of  steam,  to  Wickens's  pond.  Here, 
to  their  surprise,  was  Smilash,  on  electro-plated  acme 
skates,  practising  complicated  figures  with  intense 
diligence.  It  soon  appeared  that  his  skill  came  short 
of  his  ambition;  for,  after  several  narrow  escapes  and 
some  frantic  staggering,  his  calves,  elbows,  and  occi- 
put smote  the  ice  almost  simultaneously.  On  rising 
ruefully  to  a  sitting  posture  he  became  aware  that 
eight  young  ladies  were  watching  his  proceedings  with 
interest. 

"  This  comes  of  a  common  man  putting  himself 
above  his  station  by  getting  into  gentlemen's  skates," 
he  said.  '^  Had  I  been  content  with  a  humble  slide, 
as  my  fathers  was,  I  should  ha'  been  a  happier  man 
at  the  present  moment."  He  sighed,  rose,  touched 
his  hat  to  Miss  Ward,  and  took  off  his  skates,  adding: 
*'  Good-morning,  Miss.  Miss  Wilson  sent  me  word 
to  be  here  sharp  at  six  to  put  on  the  young  ladies' 
skates,  and  I  took  the  liberty  of  trying  a  figure  or  two 
to  keep  out  the  cold." 

"  Miss  Wilson  did  not  tell  me  that  she  ordered  you 
to  come,"  said  Miss  Ward. 

"  Just  like  her  to  be  thoughtful  and  yet  not  let  on 
to  be!  She  is  a  kind  lady,  and  a  learned — ^like  your- 
self. Miss.  Sit  yourself  down  on  the  camp-stool,  and 
give  me  your  heel,  if  I  may  be  so  bold  as  to  stick  a 
gimlet  into  it." 

136 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

His  assistance  was  welcome,  and  Miss  Ward  allowed 
him  to  put  on  her  skates.  She  was  a  Canadian,  and 
could  skate  well.  Jane,  the  first  to  follow  her,  was 
anxious  as  to  the  strength  of  the  ice;  but  when  re- 
assured, she  acquitted  herself  admirably,  for  she  was 
proficient  in  outdoor  exercises,  and  had  the  satisfac- 
tion of  laughing  in  the  field  at  those  who  laughed  at 
her  in  the  study.  Agatha,  contrary  to  her  custom, 
gave  way  to  her  companions,  and  her  boots  were  the 
last  upon  which  Smilash  operated. 

"How  d'you  do.  Miss  Wylie?"  he  said,  dropping 
the  Smilash  manner  now  that  the  rest  were  out  of 
earshot. 

"  I  am  very  well,  thank  you,"  said  Agatha,  shy  and 
constrained.  This  phase  of  her  being  new  to  him, 
he  paused  with  her  heel  in  his  hand  and  looked  up  at 
her  curiously.  She  collected  herself,  returned  his 
gaze  steadily,  and  said:  "  How  did  Miss  Wilson  send 
you  word  to  come?  She  only  knew  of  our  party  at 
half -past  nine  last  night." 

"  Miss  Wilson  did  not  send  for  me." 

"  But  you  have  just  told  Miss  Ward  that  she  did." 

"  Yes.  I  find  it  necessary  to  tell  almost  as  many 
lies  now  that  I  am  a  simple  laborer  as  I  did  when  I 
was  a  gentleman.     More,  in  fact." 

"  I  shall  know  how  much  to  believe  of  what  you 
say  in  the  future." 

"  The  truth  is  this.  I  am  perhaps  the  worst  skater 
in  the  world,  and  therefore,  according  to  a  natural 
law,  I  covet  the  faintest  distinction  on  the  ice  more 

187 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

than  immortal  fame  for  the  things  in  which  nature 
has  given  me  aptitude  to  excel.  I  envy  that  large 
friend  of  yours — Jane  is  her  name,  I  think — more 
than  I  envy  Plato.  I  came  down  here  this  morning, 
thinking  that  the  skating  world  was  all  a-bed,  to  prac- 
tice in  secret." 

"  I  am  glad  we  caught  you  at  it,"  said  Agatha  mali- 
ciously, for  he  was  disappointing  her.  She  wanted 
him  to  be  heroic  in  his  conversation;  and  he  would 
not. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  he  replied.  "  I  have  observed  that 
Woman's  dearest  delight  is  to  wound  Man's  self-con- 
ceit, though  Man's  dearest  delight  is  to  gratify  hers. 
There  is  at  least  one  creature  lower  than  Man.  Now, 
off  with  you.  Shall  I  hold  you  until  your  ankles  get 
firm?" 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  disgusted:  "/  can  skate 
pretty  well,  and  I  don't  think  you  could  give  me  any 
useful  assistance."  x\nd  she  went  off  cautiously,  feel- 
ing that  a  mishap  would  be  very  disgraceful  after  such 
a  speech. 

He  stood  on  the  shore,  listening  to  the  grinding, 
swaying  sound  of  the  skates,  and  watching  the  grow- 
ing complexity  of  the  curves  they  were  engraving  on 
the  ice.  As  the  girls  grew  warm  and  accustomed  to 
the  exercise  they  laughed,  jeste^i,  screamed  recklessly 
when  they  came  into  collision,  and  sailed  before  the 
wind  down  the  whole  length  of  the  pond  at  perilous 
speed.  The  more  animated  they  became,  the  gloom- 
ier looked  Smilash. 

138 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

^'  Not  two-penn^orth  of  choice  between  them  and  a 
parcel  of  puppies/'  he  said;  "  except  that  some  of  them 
are  conscious  that  there  is  a  man  looking  at  them, 
although  he  is  only  a  blackguard  laborer.  They  re- 
mind me  of  Henrietta  in  a  hundred  ways.  Would  I 
laugh,  now,  if  the  whole  sheet  of  ice  were  to  burst  into 
little  bits  under  them?  " 

Just  then  the  ice  cracked  with  a  startling  report, 
and  the  skaters,  except  Jane,  skimmed  away  in  all 
directions. 

"You  are  breaking  the  ice  to  pieces,  Jane,"  said 
Agatha,  calling  from  a  safe  distance.  "  How  can  you 
expect  it  to  bear  your  weight?  " 

"  Pack  of  fools  ! "  retorted  Jane  indignantly. 
"  The  noise  only  shows  how  strong  it  is." 

The  shock  which  the  report  had  given  Smilash  an- 
swered him  his  question.  "  Make  a  note  that  wishes 
for  the  destruction  of  the  human  race,  however  ra- 
tional and  sincere,  are  contrary  to  nature,"  he  said, 
recovering  his  spirits.  "  Besides,  what  a  precious  fool 
I  should  be  if  I  were  working  at  an  international  asso- 
ciation of  creatures  only  fit  for  destruction!  Hi,  lady! 
One  word.  Miss!  "  This  was  to  Miss  Ward,  who  had 
skated  into  his  neighborhood.  "  It  bein'  a  cold  morn- 
ing, and  me  havin'  a  poor  and  common  circulation, 
would  it  be  looked  on  as  a  liberty  if  I  was  to  cut  a 
slide  here  or  take  a  turn  in  the  corner  all  to 
myself?  " 

"  You  may  skate  over  there  if  you  wish,"  she  said, 
after  a  pause  for  consideration,  pointing  to  a  deserted 

139 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

spot  at  the  leeward  end  of  the  pond,  where  the  ice  was 
too  rough  for  comfortahle  skating. 

"  Nobly  spoke!  "  he  cried,  with  a  grin,  hurrying  to 
the  place  indicated,  where,  skating  being  out  of  the 
question,  he  made  a  pair  of  slides,  and  gravely  exer- 
cised himself  upon  them  until  his  face  glowed  and  his 
fingers  tingled  in  the  frosty  air.  The  time  passed 
quickly;  when  Miss  Ward  sent  for  him  to  take  off  her 
skates  there  was  a  general  groan  and  declaration  that 
it  could  not  possibly  be  half-past  eight  o'clock  yet. 
Smilash  knelt  before  the  camp-stool,  and  was  pres- 
ently busy  unbuckling  and  unscrewing.  When 
Jane's  turn  came,  the  camp-stool  creaked  beneath  her 
weight.  Agatha  again  remonstrated  with  her,  but 
immediately  reproached  herself  with  flippancy  before 
Smilash,  to  whom  she  wished  to  convey  an  impres- 
sion of  deep  seriousness  of  character. 

"  Smallest  foot  of  the  lot,"  he  said  critically,  hold- 
ing Jane's  foot  between  his  finger  and  thumb  as  if 
it  were  an  art  treasure  which  he  had  been  invited 
to  examine.  "And  belonging  to  the  finest  built 
lady." 

Jane  snatched  away  her  foot,  blushed,  and  said: 

"  Indeed!     What  next,  I  wonder?  " 

"  T'other  'un  next,"  he  said,  setting  to  work  on  the 
remaining  skate.  When  it  was  off,  he  looked  up  at 
her,  and  she  darted  a  glance  at  him  as  she  rose  which 
showed  that  his  compliment  (her  feet  were,  in  fact, 
small  and  pretty)  was  appreciated. 

"  Allow  me.  Miss,"  he  said  to  Gertrude,  who  was 
140 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

standing  on  one  leg,  leaning  on  Agatha,  and  taking 
off  her  own  skates. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  she  said  coldly.  "  I  don't  need 
your  assistance." 

"  I  am  well  aware  that  the  offer  was  overbold,"  he 
replied,  with  a  self-complacency  that  made  his  profes- 
sion of  humility  exasperating.  "  If  all  the  skates  is 
off,  I  will,  by  Miss  Wilson's  order,  carry  them  and  the 
camp-stool  back  to  the  college." 

Miss  Ward  handed  him  her  skates  and  turned  away. 
Gertrude  placed  hers  on  the  stool  and  went  with  Miss 
Ward.  The  rest  followed,  leaving  him  to  stare  at  the 
heap  of  skates  and  consider  how  he  should  carry  them. 
He  could  think  of  no  better  plan  than  to  interlace 
the  straps  and  hang  them  in  a  chain  over  his  shoulder. 
By  the  time  he  had  done  this  the  young  ladies  were 
out  of  sight,  and  his  intention  of  enjoying  their  so- 
ciety during  the  return  to  the  college  was  defeated. 
They  had  entered  the  building  long  before  he  came  in 
sight  of  it. 

Somewhat  out  of  conceit  with  his  folly,  he  went  to 
the  servants'  entrance  and  rang  the  bell  there.  When 
the  door  was  opened,  he  saw  Miss  Ward  standing  be- 
hind the  maid  who  admitted  him. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  looking  at  the  string  of  skates  as  if 
she  had  hardly  expected  to  see  them  again,  "  so  you 
have  brought  our  things  back?  " 

"  Such  were  my  instructions,"  he  said,  taken  aback 
by  her  manner. 

"  You  had  no  instructions.  What  do  you  mean  by 
141 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

getting  our  skates  into  your  charge  under  false  pre- 
tences? I  was  about  to  send  the  police  to  take  them 
from  you.  How  dare  you  tell  me  that  you  were  sent 
to  wait  on  me,  when  you  know  very  well  that  you  were 
nothing  of  the  sort?  " 

"  I  couldn't  help  it,  Miss,"  he  replied  submissively. 
"  I  am  a  natural  born  liar — always  was.  I  know  that 
it  must  appear  dreadful  to  you  that  never  told  a  lie, 
and  don't  hardly  know  what  a  lie  is,  belonging  as  you 
do  to  a  class  where  none  is  ever  told.  But  common 
people  like  me  tells  lies  just  as  a  duck  swims.  I  ask 
your  pardon,  Miss,  most  humble,  and  I  hope  the  young 
ladies  '11  be  able  to  tell  one  set  of  skates  from  t'other; 
for  I'm  blest  if  I  can." 

*^  Put  them  down.  Miss  Wilson  wishes  to  speak  to 
you  before  you  go.     Susan,  show  him  the  way." 

"  Hope  you  ain't  been  and  got  a  poor  cove  into 
trouble.  Miss?" 

"  Miss  Wilson  knows  how  you  have  behaved." 

He  smiled  at  her  benevolently  and  followed  Susan 
upstairs.  On  their  way  they  met  Jane,  who  stole 
a  glance  at  him,  and  was  about  to  pass  by,  when  he 
said: 

"  Won't  you  say  a  word  to  Miss  Wilson  for  a  poor 
common  fellow,  honored  young  lady?  I  have  got  into 
dreadful  trouble  for  having  made  bold  to  assist  you 
this  morning." 

"  You  needn't  give  yourself  the  pains  to  talk  like 
that,"  replied  Jane  in  an  impetuous  whisper.  "  We 
all  know  that  you  are  only  pretending." 

142 


A  Ti  Unsocial  Socialist 

"Well,  you  can  guess  my  motive,"  he  whispered, 
looking  tenderly  at  her. 

"  Such  stuff  and  nonsense!  I  never  heard  of  such 
a  thing  in  my  life,"  said  Jane,  and  ran  away,  plainly 
understanding  that  he  had  disguised  himself  in  order 
to  obtain  admission  to  the  college  and  enjoy  the  hap- 
piness of  looking  at  her. 

"  Cursed  fool  that  I  am! "  he  said  to  himself;  "I 
cannot  act  like  a  rational  creature  for  five  consecutive 
minutes." 

The  servant  led  him  to  the  study  and  announced, 
"  The  man,  if  you  please,  ma'am." 

"  Jeff  Smilash,"  he  added  in  explanation. 

"  Come  in,"  said  Miss  Wilson  sternly. 

He  went  in,  and  met  the  determined  frown  which 
she  cast  on  him  from  her  seat  behind  the  writing 
table,  by  saying  courteously: 

"  Good-morning,  Miss  Wilson." 

She  bent  forward  involuntarily,  as  if  to  receive  a 
gentleman.  Then  she  checked  herself  and  looked 
implacable, 

"  I  have  to  apologize,"  he  said,  "  for  making  use  of 
your  name  unwarrantably  this  morning — telling  a  lie, 
in  fact.  I  happened  to  be  skating  when  the  young 
ladies  came  down,  and  as  they  needed  some  assistance 
which  they  would  hardly  have  accepted  from  a  com- 
mon man — excuse  my  borrowing  that  tiresome  expres- 
sion from  our  acquaintance  Smilash — I  set  their 
minds  at  ease  by  saying  that  you  had  sent  for  me. 
Otherwise,  as  you  have  given  me  a  bad  character — 

143 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

though  not  worse  than  I  deserve — they  would  prob- 
ably have  refused  to  employ  me,  or  at  least  I  should 
have  been  compelled  to  accept  payment,  which  1,  of 
course,  do  not  need." 

Miss  Wilson  affected  surprise.  "  I  do  not  under- 
stand you,"  she  said. 

"  Not  altogether,"  he  said  smiling.  "  But  you  un- 
derstand that  I  am  what  is  called  a  gentleman." 

"  N'o.  The  gentlemen  with  whom  I  am  conver- 
sant do  not  dress  as  you  dress,  nor  speak  as  you  speak, 
nor  act  as  you  act." 

He  looked  at  her,  and  her  countenance  confirmed 
the  hostility  of  her  tone.  He  instantly  relapsed  into 
an  aggravated  phase  of  Smilash. 

"I  will  no  longer  attempt  to  set  myself  up  as  a 
gentleman,"  he  said.  *^I  am  a  common  man,  and 
your  ladyship's  hi  recognizes  me  as  such  and  is  not  to 
be  deceived.  But  don't  go  for  to  say  that  I  am  not 
candid  when  I  am  as  candid  as  ever  you  will  let  me 
be.  What  fault,  if  any,  do  you  find  with  my  putting 
the  skates  on  the  young  ladies,  and  carryin'  the  camp- 
stool  for  them?" 

"  If  you  are  a  gentleman,"  said  Miss  Wilson,  red- 
dening, "  your  conduct  in  persisting  in  these  antics 
in  my  presence  is  insulting  to  me.     Extremely  so." 

"  Miss  Wilson,"  he  replied,  unruffled,  "  if  you  insist 
on  Smilash,  you  shall  have  Smilash;  I  take  an  insane 
pleasure  in  personating  him.  If  you  want  Sidney — 
my  real  Christian  name — you  can  command  him. 
But  allow  me  to  say  that  you  must  have  either  one 
144 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

or  the  other.  If  you  become  frank  with  me,  I  will 
understand  that  you  are  addressing  Sidney.  If  dis- 
tant and  severe,  Smilash." 

"  No  matter  what  your  name  may  be,"  said  Miss 
Wilson,  much  annoyed,  "  I  forbid  you  to  come  here 
or  to  hold  any  communication  whatever  with  the 
3'oung  ladies  in  my  charge.'^ 

"Why?" 

"  Because  I  choose." 

"  There  is  much  force  in  that  reason.  Miss  Wilson; 
but  it  is  not  moral  force  in  the  sense  conveyed  by  your 
college  prospectus,  which  I  have  read  with  great  in- 
terest." 

Miss  Wilson,  since  her  quarrel  with  Agatha,  had 
been  sore  on  the  subject  of  moral  force.  "  No  one  is 
admitted  here,"  she  said,  "  without  a  trustworthy  in- 
troduction or  recommendation.  A  disguise  is  not  a 
satisfactory  substitute  for  either." 

"  Disguises  are  generally  assumed  for  the  purpose 
of  concealing  crime,"  he  remarked  sententiously. 

"  Precisely  so,"  she  said  emphatically. 

"  Therefore,  I  bear,  to  say  the  least,  a  doubtful 
character.  Nevertheless,  I  have  formed  with  some 
of  the  students  here  a  slight  acquaintance,  of  which, 
it  seems,  you  disapprove.  You  have  given  me  no  good 
reason  why  I  should  discontinue  that  acquaintance, 
and  you  cannot  control  me  except  by  your  wish — a 
sort  of  influence  not  usually  effective  with  doubtful 
characters.  Suppose  I  disregard  your  wish,  and  that 
one  or  two  of  your  pupils  come  to  you  and  say:  '  Miss 
10  145 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

Wilson,  in  our  opinion  Siaiilash  vs'sm  excellent  fellow; 
we  find  his  conversation  most  improving.  As  it  is 
your  principle  to  allow  us  to  e:$:ercise  our  own  judg- 
ment, we  intend  to  cultivate  the  acquaintance  of  Smi- 
lash/     How  will  you  a9t  in  that  case?  " 

"  Send  them  home  to  their  parents  at  once.'^ 

"  I  see  that  your  principles  are  those  of  the  Church 
of  England.  You  allo^  the  students  the  right  of 
private  judgment  on  condition  that  they  arrive  at  the 
same  conclusions  as  you.  Excuse  my  saying  that  the 
principles  of  the  Church  of  England,  however  excel- 
lent, are  not  those  your  prospectus  led  me  to  hope 
for.     Your  plan  is  coercion,  stark  and  simple." 

"I  do  not  admit  it,"  said  Miss  Wilson,  ready  to 
argue,  even  with  Smilash,  in  defence  of  her  system. 
"  The  girls  are  quite  at  liberty  to  act  as  they  please, 
but  I  reserve  my  equal  liberty  to  exclude  them  from 
my  college  if  I  do  not  approve  of  their  behavior." 

"Just  so.  In  most  schools  children  are  perfectly 
at  liberty  to  learn  their  lessons  or  not,  just  as  they 
please;  but  the  principal  reserves  an  equal  liberty  to 
whip  them  if  they  cannot  repeat  their  tasks." 

"  I  do  not  whip  my  pupils,"  said  Miss  Wilson  in- 
dignantly.    "  The  comparison  is  an  outrage." 

"  But  you  expel  them;  and,  as  they  are  devoted  to 
you  and  to  the  place,  expulsion  is  a  dreaded  punish- 
ment. Yours  is  the  old  system  of  making  laws  and 
enforcing  them  by  penalties,  and  the  superiority  of 
Alton  College  to  other  colleges  is  due,  not  to  any  dif- 
ference of  system,  but  to  the  comparative  reasonable- 
146 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

ness  of  its  laws  and  the  mildness  and  judgment  with 
which  they  are  enf  orced.'^ 

"  My  system  is  radically  different  from  the  old  one. 
However,  I  will  not  discuss  the  matter  with  you.  A 
mind  occupied  with  the  prejudices  of  the  old  coercive 
despotism  can  naturally  only  see  in  the  new  a  modifi- 
cation of  the  old,  instead  of,  as  my  system  is,  an  entire 
reversal  or  abandonment  of  it." 

He  shook  his  head  sadly  and  said:  "You  seek  to 
impose  your  ideas  on  others,  ostracizing  those  who 
reject  them.  Believe  me,  mankind  has  been  doing 
nothing  else  ever  since  it  began  to  pay  some  attention 
to  ideas.  It  has  been  said  that  a  benevolent  despotism 
is  the  best  possible  form  of  government.  I  do  not 
believe  that  saying,  because  I  believe  another  one  to 
the  effect  that  hell  is  paved  with  benevolence,  which 
most  people,  the  proverb  being  too  deep  for  them,  mis- 
interpret as  unfulfilled  intentions.  As  if  a  benevo- 
lent despot  might  not  by  any  error  of  judgment 
destroy  his  kingdom,  and  then  say,  like  Romeo  when 
he  got  his  friend  killed,  '  I  thought  all  for  the  best! ' 
Excuse  my  rambling.  I  meant  to  say,  in  short,  that 
though  you  are  benevolent  and  judicious  you  are  none 
the  less  a  despot." 

Miss  Wilson,  at  a  loss  for  a  reply,  regretted  that  she 
had  not,  before  letting  him  gain  so  far  on  her,  dis- 
missed him  summarily  instead  of  tolerating  a  discus- 
sion which  she  did  not  know  how  to  end  with  dignity. 
He  relieved  her  by  adding  unexpectedly: 

"  Your  system  was  the  cause  of  my  absurd  marriage. 
147 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

My  wife  acquired  a  degree  of  culture  and  l*easonable- 
ness  from  her  training  here  which  made  her  seem  a 
superior  being  among  the  chatterers  who  form  the 
female  seasoning  in  ordinary  society.  I  admired  her 
dark  eyes,  and  was  only  too  glad  to  seize  the  excuse 
her  education  offered  me  for  believing  her  a  match 
for  me  in  mind  as  well  as  in  body." 

Miss  Wilson,  astonished,  determined  to  tell  him 
coldly  that  her  time  was  valuable.  But  curiosity  took 
possession  of  her  in  the  act  of  utterance,  and  the  words 
that  came  were,  "  Who  was  she  ?  " 

"  Henrietta  Jansenius.  She  is  Henrietta  Trefusis, 
and  I  am  Sidney  Trefusis,  at  your  mercy.  I  see  I 
have  aroused  your  compassion  at  last." 

"  Nonsense!  "  said  Miss  Wilson  hastily;  for  her  sur- 
prise was  indeed  tinged  by  a  feeling  that  he  was 
thrown  away  on  Henrietta. 

"  I  ran  away  from  her  and  adopted  this  retreat  and 
this  disguise  in  order  to  avoid  her.  The  usual  rebuke 
to  human  forethought  followed.  I  ran  straight  into 
her  arms — or  rather  she  ran  into  mine.  You  remem- 
ber the  scene,  and  were  probably  puzzled  by  it." 

"  You  seem  to  think  your  marriage  contract  a  very 
light  matter,  Mr.  Trefusis.  May  I  ask  whose  fault 
was  the  separation?     Hers,  of  course." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  reproach  her  with.  I  expected 
to  find  her  temper  hasty,  but  it  was  not  so — her  be- 
havior was  unexceptionable.  So  was  mine.  Our 
bliss  was  perfect,  but  unfortunately  I  was  not  made 
for  domestic  bliss — at  all  events  I  could  not  endure  it 

148 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

— so  I  fled,  and  when  she  caught  nie  again  I  could  give 
no  excuse  for  my  flight,  though  I  made  it  clear  to  her 
that  I  would  not  resume  our  connubial  relations  just 
yet.  We  parted  on  bad  terms.  I  fully  intended  to 
write  her  a  sweet  letter  to  make  her  forgive  me  in 
spite  of  herself,  but  somehow  the  weeks  have  slipped 
away  and  I  am  still  fully  intending.  She  has  never 
written,  and  I  have  never  written.  This  is  a  pretty 
state  of  things,  isn't  it.  Miss  Wilson,  after  all  her 
advantages  under  the  influence  of  moral  force  and  the 
movement  for  the  higher  education  of  women  ?  " 

"  By  your  own  admission,  the  fault  seems  to  lie 
upon  your  moral  training  and  not  upon  hers." 

"  The  fault  was  in  the  conditions  of  our  association. 
Why  they  should  have  attracted  me  so  strongly  at  first, 
and  repelled  me  so  horribly  afterwards,  is  one  of  those 
devil's  riddles  which  will  not  be  answered  until  we 
shall  have  traced  all  the  yet  unsuspected  reactions  of 
our  inveterate  dishonesty.  But  I  am  wasting  your 
time,  I  fear.  You  sent  for  Smilash,  and  I  have  re- 
sponded by  practically  annihilating  him.  In  public, 
however,  you  must  still  bear  with  his  antics.  One 
moment  more.  I  had  forgotten  to  ask  you  whether 
you  are  interested  in  the  shepherd  whose  wife  you 
sheltered  on  the  night  of  the  storm?  " 

"He  assured  me,  before  he  took  his  wife  away, 
that  he  was  comfortably  settled  in  a  lodging  in 
Lyvern." 

"  Yes.  Very  comfortably  settled  indeed.  For  half- 
a-crown  a  week  he  obtained  permission  to  share  a 
149 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

spacious  drawing-room  with  two  other  families  in  a 
ten-roomed  house  in  not  much  better  repair  than  his 
blown-down  hovel.  This  house  yields  to  its  landlord 
over  two  hundred  a  year,  or  rather  more  than  the  rent 
of  a  commodious  mansion  in  South  Kensington.  It 
is  a  troublesome  rent  to  collect,  but  on  the  other  hand 
there  is  no  expenditure  for  repairs  or  sanitation,  which 
are  not  considered  necessary  in  tenement  houses.  Our 
friend  has  to  walk  three  miles  to  his  work  and  three 
miles  back.  Exercise  is  a  capital  thing  for  a  student 
or  a  city  clerk,  but  to  a  shepherd  who  has  been  in 
the  fields  all  day,  a  long  walk  at  the  end  of  his  work 
is  somewhat  too  much  of  a  good  thing.  He  begged 
for  an  increase  of  wages  to  compensate  him  for  the 
loss  of  the  hut,  but  Sir  John  pointed  out  to  him  that 
if  he  was  not  satisfied  his  place  could  be  easily  filled 
by  less  exorbitant  shepherds.  Sir  John  even  con- 
descended to  explain  that  the  laws  of  political  econ- 
omy bind  emplo3^ers  to  buy  labor  in  the  cheapest 
market,  and  our  poor  friend,  just  as  ignorant  of  eco- 
nomics as  Sir  John,  of  course  did  not  know  that  this 
was  untrue.  However,  as  labor  is  actually  so  pur- 
chased everywhere  except  in  Downing  Street  and  a 
few  other  privileged  spots,  I  suggested  that  our  friend 
should  go  to  some  place  where  his  market  price  would 
be  higher  than  in  merry  England.  He  was  willing 
enough  to  do  so,  but  unable  from  want  of  means.  So 
I  lent  him  a  trifle,  and  now  he  is  on  his  way  to  Austra- 
lia. Workmen  are  the  geese  that  lay  the  golden  eggs, 
but  they  fly  away  sometimes.    I  hear  a  gong  sounding, 

150 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

to  remind  me  of  the  flight  of  time  and  the  value  of 
your  share  of  it.     Good-morning!  " 

Miss  Wilson  was  suddenly  moved  not  to  let  him  go 
without  an  appeal  to  his  better  nature.  "Mr.  Tre- 
f  usis,"  she  said,  "  excuse  me,  but  are  you  not,  in  your 
generosity  to  others  a  little  forgetful  of  your  duty  to 
yourself;  and " 

"  The  first  and  hardest  of  all  duties!  "  he  exclaimed. 
"  I  beg  your  pardon  for  interrupting  you.  It  was 
only  to  plead  guilty." 

"  I  cannot  admit  that  it  is  the  first  of  all  duties,  but 
it  is  sometimes  perhaps  the  hardest,  as  you  say.  Still, 
you  could  surely  do  yourself  more  justice  without  any 
great  eifort.  If  you  wish  to  live  humbly,  you  can  do 
so  without  pretending  to  be  an  uneducated  man  and 
without  taking  an  irritating  and  absurd  name.  Why 
on  earth  do  you  call  yourself  Smilash  ?  " 

"  I  confess  that  the  name  has  been  a  failure.  I  took 
great  pains,  in  constructing  it,  to  secure  a  pleasant 
impression.  It  is  not  a  mere  invention,  but  a  com- 
pound of  the  words  smile  and  eyelash.  A  smile  sug- 
gests good  humor;  eyelashes  soften  the  expression 
and  are  the  only  features  that  never  blemish 
a  face.  Hence  Smilash  is  a  sound  that  should  cheer 
and  propitiate.  Yet  it  exasperates.  It  is  really 
very  odd  that  it  should  have  that  effect,  unless  it 
is  that  it  raises  expectations  which  I  am  unable  to 
satisfy." 

Miss  Wilson  looked  at  him  doubtfully.  He  re- 
mained perfectly  grave.  There  was  a  pause.  Then, 
151 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

as  if  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  be  offended,  she 
said,  "  Good-morning,"  shortly. 

"  Good-morning,  Miss  Wilson.  The  son  of  a  mil- 
lionaire, like  the  son  of  a  king,  is  seldom  free  from 
mental  disease.  I  am  just  mad  enough  to  be  a 
mountebank.  If  I  were  a  little  madder,  I  should  per- 
haps really  believe  myself  Smilash  instead  of  merely 
acting  him.  Whether  you  ask  me  to  forget  myself 
for  a  moment,  or  to  remember  myself  for  a  moment, 
I  reply  that  I  am  the  son  of  my  father,  and  cannot. 
With  my  egotism,  my  charlatanry,  my  tongue,  and  my 
habit  of  having  my  own  way,  I  am  fit  for  no  calling 
but  that  of  saviour  of  mankind — ^just  of  the  sort  they 
like."  After  an  impressive  pause  he  turned  slowly 
and  left  the  room. 

"I  wonder,"  he  said,  as  he  crossed  the  landing, 
"  whether,  by  judiciously  losing  my  way,  I  can  catch 
a  glimpse  of  that  girl  who  is  like  a  golden  idol  ?  " 

Downstairs,  on  his  way  to  the  door,  he  saw  Agatha 
coming  towards  him,  occupied  with  a  book  which  she 
was  tossing  up  to  the  ceiling  and  catching.  Her 
melancholy  expression,  habitual  in  her  lonely  mo- 
ments, showed  that  she  was  not  amusing  herself,  but 
giving  vent  to  her  restlessness.  As  her  gaze  travelled 
upward,  following  the  flight  of  the  volume,  it  was 
arrested  by  Smilash.  The  book  fell  to  the  floor.  He 
picked  it  up  and  handed  it  to  her,  saying: 

"  And,  in  good  time,  here  is  the  golden  idol!  " 

"  What?  "  said  Agatha,  confused. 

"  I  call  you  the  golden  idol,"  he  said.  "  When  we 
152 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

are  apart  I  always  imagine  your  face  as  a  face  of  gold, 
with  eyes  and  teeth  of  bdellium,  or  chalcedony,  or 
agate,  or  any  wonderful  unknown  stones  of  appro- 
priate colors." 

Agatha,  witless  and  dumb,  could  only  look  down 
deprecatingly. 

"  You  think  you  ought  to  be  angry  with  me,  and 
you  do  not  know  exactly  how  to  make  me  feel  that 
you  are  so.     Is  that  it? '' 

"  No.  Quite  the  contrary.  At  least — I  mean  that 
you  are  wrong.  I  am  the  most  commonplace  person 
you  can  imagine — if  you  only  knew.  No  matter  what 
I  may  look,  I  mean." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  you  are  commonplace  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  know,"  said  Agatha,  her  eyes  wander- 
ing uneasily. 

*'  Of  course  you  do  not  know;  you  cannot  see  your- 
self as  others  see  you.  For  instance,  you  have  never 
thought  of  yourself  as  a  golden  idol." 

"  But  that  is  absurd.  You  are  quite  mistaken 
about  me." 

"  Perhaps  so.  I  know,  however,  that  your  face  is 
not  really  made  of  gold  and  thai  it  has  not  the  same 
charm  for  you  that  it  has  for  others — for  me." 

"  I  must  go,"  said  Agatha,  suddenly  in  haste. 

"When  shall  we  meet  again?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said,  with  a  growing  sense  of 
alarm.     "  I  really  must  go." 

"  Believe  me,  your  hurry  is  only  imaginary.  Do 
you  fancy  that  you  are  behaving  in  a  manner  quite 

153 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

unworthy  of  yourself,  and  that  a  net  is  closing  round 
you?'' 

"  No.     Nothing  of  the  sort ! " 

'^  Then  why  are  you  so  anxious  to  get  away  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Agatha,  affecting  to  laugh  as 
he  looked  sceptically  at  her  from  beneath  his  lowered 
eyelids.  '^  Perhaps  I  do  feel  a  little  like  that ;  but 
not  so  much  as  you  say." 

"  I  will  explain  the  emotion  to  you,"  he  said,  with 
a  subdued  ardor  that  affected  Agatha  strangely.  "  But 
first  tell  me  whether  it  is  new  to  you  or  not." 

"  It  is  not  an  emotion  at  all.  I  did  not  say  that 
it  was." 

"Do  not  be  afraid  of  it.  It  is  only  being  alone 
with  a  man  whom  you  have  bewitched.  You  would 
be  mistress  of  the  situation  if  you  only  knew  how  to 
manage  a  lover.  It  is  far  easier  than  managing  a 
horse,  or  skating,  or  playing  the  piano,  or  half  a  dozen 
other  feats  of  which  you  think  nothing." 

Agatha  colored  and  raised  her  head. 

"  Forgive  me,"  he  said,  interrupting  the  action.  "  I  - 
am  trying  to  offend  you  in  order  to  save  myself  from 
falling  in  love  with  you,  and  I  have  not  the  heart  to 
let  myself  succeed.  On  your  life,  do  not  listen  to  me 
or  believe  me.  I  have  no  right  to  say  these  things  to 
you.  Some  fiend  enters  into  me  when  I  am  at  your 
side.     You  should  wear  a  veil,  Agatha." 

She  blushed,  and  stood  burning  and  tingling,  her 
presence  of  mind  gone,  and  her  chief  sensation  one 
of  relief  to  hear — for  she  did  not  dare  to  see — ^that 

154 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

he  was  departing.  Her  consciousness  was  in  a  deli- 
cious confusion,  with  the  one  definite  thought  in  it 
that  she  had  won  her  lover  at  last.  The  tone  of  Tre- 
fusis^s  voice,  rich  with  truth  and  earnestness,  his 
quick  insight,  and  his  passionate  warning  to  her  not 
to  heed  him,  convinced  her  that  she  had  entered  into 
a  relation  destined  to  influence  her  whole  life. 

"  And  yet,"  she  said  remorsefully,  "  I  cannot  love 
him  as  he  loves  me.  I  am  selfish,  cold,  calculating, 
■tsorldly,  and  have  doubted  until  now  whether  such  a 
thing  as  love  really  existed.  If  I  could  only  love  him 
recklessly  and  wholly,  as  he  loves  me!  " 

Smilash  was  also  soliloquizing  as  he  went  on  his 
way. 

"  Now  I  have  made  the  poor  child — who  was  so 
anxious  that  I  should  not  mistake  her  for  a  super- 
naturally  gifted  and  lovely  woman — as  happy  as  an 
angel;  and  so  is  that  fine  girl  whom  they  call  Jane 
Carpenter.  I  hope  they  won't  exchange  confidences 
on  the  subject/' 


155 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Mes.  Teefusis  found  her  parents  so  unsympathetic 
on  the  subject  of  her  marriage  that  she  left  their 
house  shortly  after  her  visit  to  Lyvern,  and  went 
to  reside  with  a  hospitable  friend.  Unable  to  remain 
silent  upon  the  matter  constantly  in  her  thoughts,  she 
discussed  her  husband^s  flight  with  this  friend,  and 
elicited  an  opinion  that  the  behavior  of  Trefusis  was 
scandalous  and  wicked.  Henrietta  could  not  bear 
this,  and  sought  shelter  with  a  relative.  The  same 
discussion  arising,  the  relative  said: 

"  Well,  Hetty,  if  I  am  to  speak  candidly,  I  must  say 
that  I  have  known  Sidney  Trefusis  for  a  long  time, 
and  he  is  the  easiest  person  to  get  on  with  I  ever  met. 
And  you  know,  dear,  that  you  are  very  trying  some- 
times." 

"And  so,"  cried  Henrietta,  bursting  into  tears, 
"  after  the  infamous  way  he  has  treated  me  I  am  to 
be  told  that  it  is  all  my  own  fault." 

She  left  the  house  next  day,  having  obtained  an- 
other invitation  from  a  discreet  lady  who  would  not 
discuss  the  subject  at  all.  This  proved  quite  intoler- 
able, and  Henrietta  went  to  stay  with  her  uncle  Daniel 
Jansenius,  a  jolly  and  indulgent  man.  He  opined 
that  things  would  come  right  as  soon  as  both  parties 
166 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

grew  more  sensible;  and,  as  to  which  of  them  was  in 
fault,  his  verdict  was,  six  of  one  and  half  a  dozen  of 
the  other.  Whenever  he  saw  his  niece  pensive  or 
tearful  he  laughed  at  her  and  called  her  a  grass  widow. 
Henrietta  found  that  she  could  endure  anything 
rather  than  this.  Declaring  that  the  world  was  hate- 
ful to  her,  she  hired  a  furnished  villa  in  St.  John's 
Wood,  whither  she  moved  in  December.  But,  suffer- 
ing much  there  from  loneliness,  she  soon  wrote  a 
pathetic  letter  to  Agatha,  entreating  her  to  spend  the 
approaching  Christmas  vacation  with  her,  and  prom- 
ising her  every  luxury  and  amusement  that  bound- 
less affection  could  suggest  and  boundless  means  pro- 
cure. Agatha's  reply  contained  some  unlooked-for 
information. 

"Alton^  College,  Lyvern, 
*^  14^^  December, 

"  Dearest  Hetty:  I  don't  think  I  can  do  exactly  what 
you  want,  as  I  must  spend  Xmas  with  Mamma  at  Chis- 
wick;  but  I  need  not  get  there  until  Xmas  Eve,  and 
we  break  up  here  on  yesterday  week,  the  20th.  So  T 
will  go  straight  to  you  and  bring  you  with  me  to 
Mamma's,  where  you  will  spend  Xmas  much  better 
than  moping  in  a  strange  house.  It  is  not  quite  set- 
tled yet  about  my  leaving  the  college  after  this  term. 
You  must  promise  not  to  tell  anyone;  but  I  have  a 
new  friend  here — a  lover.  Not  that  I  am  in  love  with 
him,  though  I  think  very  highly  of  him — you  know 
I  am  not  a  romantic  fool;  but  he  is  very  much  in  love 
J57 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

with  me;  and  I  wish  I  could  return  it  as  he  deserves. 
The  French  say  that  one  person  turns  the  cheek  and 
the  other  kisses  it.  It  has  not  got  quite  so  far  as  that 
with  us;  indeed,  since  he  declared  what  he  felt  he  has 
only  been  able  to  snatch  a  few  words  with  me  when 
I  have  been  skating  or  walking.  But  there  has  al- 
ways been  at  least  one  word  or  look  that  meant  a  great 
deal. 

"  And  now,  who  do  you  think  he  is?  He  says  he 
knows  you.  Can  you  guess?  He  says  you  know  all 
his  secrets.  He  says  he  knows  your  husband  well; 
that  he  treated  you  very  badly,  and  that  you  are 
greatly  to  be  pitied.  Can  you  guess  now?  He  says 
he  has  kissed  you — for  shame,  Hetty!  Have  you 
guessed  yet?  He  was  going  to  tell  me  something 
more  when  we  were  interrupted,  and  I  have  not  seen 
him  since  except  at  a  distance.  He  is  the  man  with 
whom  you  eloped  that  day  when  you  gave  us  all  such 
a  fright — Mr.  Sidney.  I  was  the  first  to  penetrate 
his  disguise;  and  that  very  morning  I  had  taxed  him 
with  it,  and  he  had  confessed  it.  He  said  then  that 
he  was  hiding  from  a  woman  who  was  in  love  with 
him;  and  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  it  turned  out 
to  be  true;  for  he  is  wonderfully  original — in  fact 
what  makes  me  like  him  is  that  he  is  by  far  the  clever- 
est man  I  have  ever  met;  and  yet  he  thinks  nothing 
of  himself.  I  cannot  imagine  what  he  sees  in  me  to 
care  for,  though  he  is  evidently  ensnared  by  my 
charms.     I  hope  he  won't  find  out  how  silly  I  am. 

He  calls  me  his  golden  idol ^' 

168 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

Henrietta,  with  a  scream  of  rage,  tore  the  letter 
across,  and  stamped  upon  it.  When  the  paroxysm 
subsided  she  picked  up  the  pieces,  held  them  together 
as  accurately  as  her  trembling  hands  could,  and  read 
on. 

"  — but  he  is  not  all  honey,  and  will  say  the  most 
severe  things  sometimes  if  he  thinks  he  ought  to. 
He  has  made  me  so  ashamed  of  my  ignorance  that  I 
am  resolved  to  stay  here  for  another  term  at  least,  and 
study  as  hard  as  I  can.  I  have  not  begun  yet,  as  it  is 
not  worth  while  at  the  eleventh  hour  of  this  term; 
but  when  I  return  in  January  I  will  set  to  work  in 
earnest.  So  you  may  see  that  his  influence  over  me 
is  an  entirely  good  one.  I  will  tell  you  all  about  him 
when  we  meet;  for  I  have  no  time  to  say  anything 
now,  as  the  girls  are  bothering  me  to  go  skating  with 
them.  He  pretends  to  be  a  workman,  and  puts  on 
our  skates  for  us;  and  Jane  Carpenter  believes  that  he 
is  in  love  with  her.  Jane  is  exceedingly  kindhearted; 
but  she  has  a  talent  for  making  herself  ridiculous  that 
nothing  can  suppress.  The  ice  is  lovely,  and  the 
weather  jolly;  we  do  not  mind  the  cold  in  the  least. 
They  are  threatening  to  go  without  me — good-bye! 

"  Ever  your  affectionate 

"  Agatha." 

Henrietta  looked  round  for  something  sharp.  She 
grasped  a  pair  of  scissors  greedily  and  stabbed  the  air 
with  them.     Then  she  became  conscious  of  her  mur- 

159 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

derous  impulse,  and  she  shuddered  at  it;  but  in  a 
moment  more  her  jealousy  swept  back  upon  her.  She 
cried,  as  if  suffocating,  "  I  don't  care;  I  should  like  to 
kill  her!  "     But  she  did  not  take  up  the  scissors  again. 

At  last  she  rang  the  bell  violently  and  asked  for  a 
railway  guide.  On  being  told  that  there  was  not  one 
in  the  house,  she  scolded  her  maid  so  unreasonably 
that  the  girl  said  pertly  that  if  she  were  to  be  spoken 
to  like  that  she  should  wish  to  leave  when  her  month 
was  up.  This  check  brought  Henrietta  to  her  senses. 
She  went  upstairs  and  put  on  the  first  cloak  at  hand, 
which  was  fortunately  a  heavy  fur  one.  Then  she 
took  her  bonnet  and  purse,  left  the  house,  hailed  a 
passing  hansom,  and  bade  the  cabman  drive  her  to  St. 
Pancras. 

When  the  night  came  the  air  at  Lyvern  was  like 
iron  in  the  intense  cold.  The  trees  and  the  wind 
seemed  ice-bound,  as  the  water  was,  and  silence,  still- 
ness, and  starlight,  frozen  hard,  brooded  over  the 
country.  At  the  chalet,  Smilash,  indifferent  to  the 
price  of  coals,  kept  up  a  roaring  fire  that  glowed 
through  the  uncurtained  windows,  and  tantalized  the 
chilled  wayfarer  who  did  not  happen  to  know,  as  the 
herdsmen  of  the  neighborhood  did,  that  he  was  wel- 
come to  enter  and  warm  himself  without  risk  of  re- 
buff from  the  tenant.  Smilash  was  in  high  spirits. 
He  had  become  a  proficient  skater,  and  frosty  weather 
was  now  a  luxury  to  him.  It  braced  him,  and  drove 
away  his  gloomy  fits,  whilst  his  sympathies  were  kept 
awake  and  his  indignation  maintained  at  an  exhilarat- 

160 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

ing  pitch  by  the  sufferings  of  the  poor,  who,  unable 
to  afford  fires  or  skating,  warmed  themselves  in  such 
sweltering  heat  as  overcrowding  produces  in  all 
seasons. 

It  was  Smilash's  custom  to  make  a  hot  drink  of 
oatmeal  and  water  for  himself  at  half-past  nine  o'clock 
each  evening,  and  to  go  to  bed  at  ten.  He  opened 
the  door  to  throw  out  some  water  that  remained  in  the 
saucepan  from  its  last  cleansing.  It  froze  as  it  fell 
upon  the  soil.  He  looked  at  the  night,  and  shook 
himself  to  throw  off  an  oppressive  sensation  of  being 
clasped  in  the  icy  ribs  of  the  air,  for  the  mercury  had 
descended  below  the  familiar  region  of  crisp  and 
crackly  cold  and  marked  a  temperature  at  which  the 
numb  atmosphere  seemed  on  the  point  of  congealing 
into  black  solidity.     Nothing  was  stirring. 

"  By  George!  "  he  said,  "  this  is  one  of  those  nights 
on  which  a  rich  man  daren't  think!  " 

He  shut  the  door,  hastened  back  to  his  fire,  and  set 
to  work  at  his  caudle,  which  he  watched  and  stirred 
with  a  solicitude  that  would  have  amused  a  professed 
cook.  When  it  was  done  he  poured  it  into  a  large 
mug,  where  it  steamed  invitingly.  He  took  up  some 
in  a  spoon  and  blew  upon  it  to  cool  it.  Tap,  tap,  tap, 
tap!  hurriedly  at  the  door. 

"  Mce  night  for  a  walk,"  he  said,  putting  down  the 
spoon;  then  shouting,  "  Come  in." 

The  latch  rose  unsteadily,  and  Henrietta,  with  fro- 
zen tears  on  her  cheeks,  and  an  unintelligible  expres- 
sion of  wretchedness  and  rage,  appeared.  After  an 
11  161 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

instant  of  amazement,  he  sprang  to  her  and  clasped 
her  in  his  arms,  and  she,  against  her  will,  and  protest- 
ing voicelessly,  stumbled  into  his  embrace. 

"  You  are  frozen  to  death,"  he  exclaimed,  carrying 
her  to  the  fire.  "  This  seal  jacket  is  like  a  sheet  of 
ice.  So  is  your  face "  (kissing  it).  "  What  is  the 
matter?     Why  do  you  struggle  so?  " 

"  Let  me  go,"  she  gasped,  in  a  vehement  whisper. 
"  I  h— hate  you." 

"  My  poor  love,  you  are  too  cold  to  hate  anyone — 
even  your  husband.  You  must  let  me  take  off  these 
atrocious  French  boots.  Your  feet  must  be  perfectly 
dead." 

By  this  time  her  voice  and  tears  were  thawing  in  the 
warmth  of  the  chalet  and  of  his  caresses.  "  You  shall 
not  take  them  off,"  she  said,  crying  with  cold  and  sor- 
row. "  Let  me  alone.  Don't  touch  me.  I  am  going 
away — straight  back.  I  will  not  speak  to  you,  nor 
take  off  my  things  here,  nor  touch  anything  in  the 
house." 

"  No,  my  darling,"  he  said,  putting  her  into  a  capa- 
cious wooden  armchair  and  busily  unbuttoning  her 
boots,  "  you  shall  do  nothing  that  you  don't  wish  to 
do.  Your  feet  are  like  stones.  Yes,  yes,  my  dear,  I 
am  a  wretch  unworthy  to  live.     I  know  it." 

"Let  me  alone,"  she  said  piteously.  "I  don't 
want  your  attentions.  I  have  done  with  you 
for  ever." 

"  Come,  you  must  drink  some  of  this  nasty  stuff. 
You  will  need  strength  to  tell  your  husband  all  the 

162 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

unpleasant  things  your  soul  is  charged  with.     Take 
just  a  little." 

She  turned  her  face  away  and  would  not  answer. 
He  brought  another  chair  and  sat  down  beside  her. 
"  My  lost,  forlorn,  betrayed  one " 

"  I  am,"  she  sobbed.  "  You  don't  mean  it,  but  I 
am." 

"You  are  also  my  dearest  and  best  of  wives.  If 
you  ever  loved  me,  Hetty,  do,  for  my  once  dear  sake, 
drink  this  before  it  gets  cold." 

She  pouted,  sobbed,  and  yielded  to  some  gentle 
force  which  he  used,  as  a  child  allows  herself  to  be 
half  persuaded,  half  compelled,  to  take  physic. 

"Do  you  feel  better  and  more  comfortable  now?" 
he  said. 

"  No,"  she  replied,  angry  with  herself  for  feeling 
both. 

"  Then,"  he  said  cheerfully,  as  if  she  had  uttered 
a  hearty  affirmative,  "  I  will  put  some  more  coals  on 
the  fire,  and  we  shall  be  as  snug  as  possible.  It  makes 
me  wildly  happy  to  see  you  at  my  fireside,  and  to  know 
that  you  are  my  own  wife." 

"  I  wonder  how  you  can  look  me  in  the  face  and  say 
so,"  she  cried. 

"  I  should  wonder  at  myself  if  I  could  look  at  your 
face  and  say  anything  else.  Oatmeal  is  a  capital  res- 
torative; all  your  energy  is  coming  back.  There,  that 
will  make  a  magnificent  blaze  presently." 

"  I  never  thought  you  deceitful,  Sidney,  whatever 
other  faults  you  might  have  had." 

163 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"Precisely,  my  love.  I  understand  your  feel- 
ings. Murder,  burglary,  intemperance,  or  the  minor 
vices  you  could  have  borne;  but  deceit  you  cannot 
abide." 

"  I  will  go  away,"  she  said  despairingly,  with  a  fresh 
burst  of  tears.  "  I  will  not  be  laughed  at  and  be- 
trayed. I  will  go  barefooted."  She  rose  and  at- 
tempted to  reach  the  door;  but  he  intercepted  her  and 
said: 

"My  love,  there  is  something  serious  the  matter. 
What  is  it?     Don't  be  angry  with  me." 

He  brought  her  back  to  the  chair.  She  took 
Agatha's  letter  from  the  pocket  of  her  fur  cloak,  and 
handed  it  to  him  with  a  faint  attempt  to  be  tragic. 

"  Eead  that,"  she  said.  "  And  never  speak  to  me 
again.     All  is  over  between  us." 

He  took  it  curiously,  and  turned  it  to  look  at  the 
signature.  "  Aha!  "  he  said,  "  my  golden  idol  has 
been  making  mischief,  has  she  ?  " 

"There!"  exclaimed  Henrietta.  "You  have  said 
it  to  my  face!  You  have  convicted  yourself  out  of 
your  own  mouth! " 

"  Wait  a  moment,  my  dear.  I  have  not  read  the 
letter  yet." 

He  rose  and  walked  to  and  fro  through  the  room, 
reading.  She  watched  him,  angrily  confident  that  she 
should  presently  see  him  change  countenance.  Sud- 
denly he  drooped  as  if  his  spine  had  partly  given  way; 
and  in  this  ungraceful  attitude  he  read  the  remainder 
of  the  letter.  When  he  had  finished  he  threw  it  on 
164 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

the  table,  thrust  his  hands  deep  into  his  pockets,  and 
roared  with  laughter,  huddling  himself  together  as  if 
he  could  concentrate  the  joke  by  collecting  himself 
into  the  smallest  possible  compass.  Henrietta,  speech- 
less with  indignation,  could  only  look  her  feelings. 
At  last  he  came  and  sat  down  beside  her. 

"  And  so,"  he  said,  "  on  receiving  this  you  rushed 
out  in  the  cold  and  came  all  the  way  to  Lyvern.  Now, 
it  seems  to  me  that  you  must  either  love  me  very 
much " 

"  I  don't.     I  hate  you." 

"  Or  else  love  yourself  very  much." 

"  Oh!  "  And  she  wept  afresh.  "  You  are  a  selfish 
brute,  and  you  do  just  as  you  like  without  considering 
anyone  else.  No  one  ever  thinks  of  me.  And  now 
you  won't  even  take  the  trouble  to  deny  that  shameful 
letter." 

"  Why  should  I  deny  it?  It  is  true.  Do  you  not 
see  the  irony  of  all  this?  I  amuse  myself  by  paying 
a  few  compliments  to  a  schoolgirl  for  whom  I  do  not 
care  two  straws  more  than  for  any  agreeable  and  pass- 
ably clever  woman  I  meet.  Nevertheless,  I  occasion- 
ally feel  a  pang  of  remorse  because  I  think  that  she 
may  love  me  seriously,  although  I  am  only  playing 
with  her.  I  pity  the  poor  heart  I  have  wantonly  en- 
snared. And,  all  the  time,  she  is  pitying  me  for  ex- 
actly the  same  reason!  She  is  conscience-stricken 
because  she  is  only  indulging  in  the  luxury  of  being 
adored  '  by  far  the  cleverest  man  she  has  ever  met,' 
and  is  as  heart-whole  as  I  am!     Ha,  ha!     That  is  the 

165 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

basis  of  the  religion  of  love  of  which  poets  are  the 
high-priests.  Each  worshipper  knows  that  his  own 
love  is  either  a  transient  passion  or  a  sham  copied 
from  his  favorite  poem;  but  he  believes  honestly  in 
the  love  of  others  for  him.  Ho,  ho!  Is  it  not  a  silly 
world,  my  dear?  " 

"  You  had  no  right  to  make  love  to  Agatha.  You 
have  no  right  to  make  love  to  anyone  but  me;  and  I 
won't  bear  it." 

"  You  are  angry  because  Agatha  has  infringed  your 
monopoly.  Always  monopoly!  Why,  you  silly  girl, 
do  you  suppose  that  I  belong  to  you,  body  and  soul  ? — 
that  I  may  not  be  moved  except  by  your  affection,  or 
think  except  of  your  beauty?  " 

"You  may  call  me  as  many  names  as  you  please, 
but  you  have  no  right  to  make  love  to  Agatha." 

"  My  dearest,  I  do  not  recollect  calling  you  any 
names.  I  think  you  said  something  about  a  selfish 
brute." 

"  I  did  not.     You  called  me  a  silly  girl." 

"  But,  my  love,  you  are." 

"  And  so  you  are.     You  are  thoroughly  selfish." 

"  I  don't  deny  it.  But  let  us  return  to  our  subject. 
What  did  we  begin  to  quarrel  about?  " 

"  I  am  not  quarrelling,  Sidney.     It  is  you." 

"  Well,  what  did  I  begin  to  quarrel  about?  " 

"  About  Agatha  Wylie." 

"  Oh,  pardon  me,  Hetty;  I  certainly  did  not  begin 
to  quarrel  about  her.  I  am  very  fond  of  her — more 
so,  it  appears,  than  she  is  of  me.  One  moment,  Hetty, 
166 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

before  you  recommence  your  reproaches.     Why  do 
you  dislike  my  saying  pretty  things  to  Agatha  ?  " 

Henrietta  hesitated,  and  said:  "  Because  you  have 
no  right  to.     It  shows  how  little  you  care  for  me." 

'^It  has  nothing  to  do  with  you.  It  only  shows 
how  much  I  care  for  her." 

"  I  will  not  stay  here  to  be  insulted,"  said  Hetty, 
her  distress  returning.     "  I  will  go  home." 

"  Not  to-night;  there  is  no  train." 

"  I  will  walk." 

"  It  is  too  far." 

"  I  don't  care.  I  will  not  stay  here,  though  I  die 
of  cold  by  the  roadside." 

"  My  cherished  one,  I  have  been  annoying  you  pur- 
posely because  you  show  by  your  anger  that  you  have 
not  ceased  to  care  for  me.  I  am  in  the  wrong,  as  I 
usually  am,  and  it  is  all  my  fault.  Agatha  knows 
nothing  about  our  marriage." 

"  I  do  not  blame  you  so  much,"  said  Henrietta,  suf- 
fering him  to  place  her  head  on  his  shoulder;  "  but 
I  will  never  speak  to  Agatha  again.  She  has  behaved 
shamefully  to  me,  and  I  will  tell  her  so." 

"  No  doubt  she  will  opine  that  it  is  all  your  fault, 
dearest,  and  that  I  have  behaved  admirably.  Between 
you  I  shall  stand  exonerated.  And  now,  since  it  is 
too  cold  for  walking,  since  it  is  late,  since  it  is  far  to 
Lyvern  and  farther  to  London,  I  must  improvise  some 
accommodation  for  you  here." 

«  But—" 

"  But  there  is  no  help  for  it.     You  must  stay." 
X67 


CHAPTER   IX 

Next  day  Smilash  obtained  from  his  wife  a  promise 
that  she  would  behave  towards  Agatha  as  if  the  letter 
had  given  no  offence.  Henrietta  pleaded  as  movingly 
as  she  could  for  an  immediate  return  to  their  domestic 
state,  but  he  put  her  off  with  endearing  speeches, 
promised  nothing  but  eternal  affection,  and  sent  her 
back  to  London  by  the  twelve  o'clock  express.  Then 
his  countenance  changed;  he  walked  back  to  Lyvern, 
and  thence  to  the  chalet,  like  a  man  pursued  by  dis- 
gust and  remorse.  Later  in  the  afternoon,  to  raise  his 
spirits,  he  took  his  skates  and  went  to  Wickens's  pond, 
where,  it  being  Saturday,  he  found  the  ice  crowded 
with  the  Alton  students  and  their  half-holiday  visi- 
tors. Fairholme,  describing  circles  with  his  habitual 
air  of  compressed  hardihood,  stopped  and  stared  with 
indignant  surprise  as  Smilash  lurched  past  him. 

"  Is  that  man  here  by  your  permission  ?  "  he  said 
to  Farmer  Wickens,  who  was  walking  about  as  if 
superintending  a  harvest. 

"  He  is  here  because  he  likes,  I  take  it,"  said  Wick- 
ens stubbornly.  "He  is  a  neighbor  of  mine  and  a 
friend  of  mine.  Is  there  any  objections  to  my  hav- 
ing a  friend  on  my  own  pond,  seein'  that  there  is  nigh 
on  two  or  three  ton  of  other  people's  friends  on  it 
168 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

without  as  much  as  a  with-your-leave  or  a  by-your- 
leave?'' 

"  Oh,  no/'  said  Fairholme,  somewhat  dashed.  "  If 
you  are  satisfied  there  can  be  no  objection." 

"  I'm  glad  on  it.     I  thought  there  mout  be." 

"  Let  me  tell  you/'  said  Fairholme,  nettled,  "  that 
your  landlord  would  not  be  pleased  to  see  him  here. 
He  sent  one  of  Sir  John's  best  shepherds  out  of  the 
country,  after  filling  his  head  with  ideas  above  his 
station.  I  heard  Sir  John  speak  very  warmly  about 
it  last  Sunday." 

"Mayhap  you  did.  Muster  Fairholme.  I  have  a 
lease  of  this  land — and  gravelly,  poor  stuff  it  is — and 
I  am  no  ways  beholden  to  Sir  John's  likings  and  dis- 
likings.  A  very  good  thing  too  for  Sir  John  that  I 
have  a  lease,  for  there  ain't  a  man  in  the  country  'ud 
tak'  a  present  o'  the  farm  if  it  was  free  to-morrow. 
And  what's  a'  more,  though  that  young  man  do  talk 
foolish  things  about  the  rights  of  farm  laborers  and 
such-like  nonsense,  if  Sir  John  was  to  hear  him  lajdn' 
it  down  concernin'  rent  and  improvements,  and  the 
way  we  tenant  farmers  is  put  upon,  p'raps  he'd  speak 
warmer  than  ever  next  Sunday." 

And  Wickens,  with  a  smile  expressive  of  his  sense 
of  having  retorted  effectively  upon  the  parson,  nodded 
and  walked  away. 

Just  then  Agatha,  skating  hand  in  hand  with  Jane 
Carpenter,  heard  these  words  in  her  ear:  "  I  have 
something  very  funny  to  tell  you.    Don't  look  round." 

She  recognized  the  voice  of  Smilash  and  obeyed. 
109 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"  I  am  not  quite  sure  that  you  will  enjoy  it  as  it 
deserves/^  he  added,  and  darted  off  again,  after  cast- 
ing an  eloquent  glance  at  Miss  Carpenter. 

Agatha  disengaged  herself  from  her  companion, 
made  a  circuit,  and  passed  near  Smilash,  saying  : 
"What  is  it?  ^' 

Smilash  flitted  away  like  a  swallow,  traced  several 
circles  around  Fairholme,  and  then  returned  to 
Agatha  and  proceeded  side  by  side  with  her. 

"I  have  read  the  letter  you  wrote  to  Hetty,"  he 
said. 

Agatha's  face  began  to  glow.  She  forgot  to  main- 
tain her  balance,  and  almost  fell. 

"  Take  care.  And  so  you  are  not  fond  of  me — in 
the  romantic  sense?  " 

No  answer.  Agatha  dumb  and  afraid  to  lift  her 
eyelids. 

"  That  is  fortunate,"  he  continued,  "  because — good 
evening.  Miss  Ward;  I  have  done  nothing  but  admire 
your  skating  lor  the  last  hour — because  men  were  de- 
ceivers ever;  and  I  am  no  exception,  as  you  will  pres- 
ently admit." 

Agatha  murmured  something,  but  it  was  unintel- 
ligible amid  the  din  of  skating. 

"You  think  not?  Well,  perhaps  you  are  right;  I 
have  said  nothing  to  you  that  is  not  in  a  measure  true. 
You  have  always  had  a  peculiar  charm  for  me.  But 
I  did  not  mean  you  to  tell  Hetty.  Can  you  guess 
why?  " 

Agatha  shook  her  head. 

170 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

^'  Because  she  is  my  wife." 

Agatha^s  ankles  became  limp.  With  an  effort  she 
kept  upright  until  she  reached  Jane,  to  whom  she 
clung  for  support. 

"  Don't,"  screamed  Jane.     "  You'll  upset  me." 

"  I  must  sit  down,"  said  Agatha.  "  I  am  tired. 
Let  me  lean  on  you  until  we  get  to  the  chairs." 

"Bosh!  I  can  skate  for  an  hour  without  sitting 
down,"  said  Jane.  However,  she  helped  Agatha  to 
a  chair  and  left  her.  Then  Smilash,  as  if  desiring  a 
rest  also,  sat  down  close  by  on  the  margin  of  the  pond. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  without  troubling  himself  as  to 
whether  their  conversation  attracted  attention  or  not, 
"  what  do  you  think  of  me  now?  " 

"  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  before,  Mr.  Trefusis?  " 

"  That  is  the  cream  of  the  joke,"  he  replied,  poising 
his  heels  on  the  ice  so  that  his  skates  stood  vertically 
at  legs'  length  from  him,  and  looking  at  them  with  a 
cynical  air.  "  I  thought  you  were  in  love  with  me, 
and  that  the  truth  would  be  too  severe  a  blow  to  you. 
Ha!  ha!  And,  for  the  same  reason,  you  generously 
forbore  to  tell  me  that  you  were  no  more  in  love  with 
me  than  with  the  man  in  the  moon.  Each  played  a 
farce,  and  palmed  it  off  on  the  other  as  a  tragedy." 

"  There  are  some  things  so  unmanly,  so  unkind,  and 
so  cruel,"  said  Agatha,  "that  I  cannot  understand 
any  gentleman  saving  them  to  a  girl.  Please  do  not 
speak  to  me  again.  Miss  Ward!  Come  to  me  for  a 
moment.     I— I  am  not  well." 

Miss  Ward  hurried  to  her  side.  Smilash,  after  star- 
171 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

ing  at  her  for  a  moment  in  astonishment,  and  in  some 
concern,  skimmed  away  into  the  crowd.  When  he 
reached  the  opposite  bank  he  took  off  his  skates  and 
asked  Jane,  who  strayed  intentionally  in  his  direction, 
to  tell  Miss  Wylie  that  he  was  gone,  and  would  skate 
no  more  there.  Without  adding  a  word  of  explana- 
tion he  left  her  and  made  for  his  dwelling.  As  he 
went  down  into  the  hollow  where  the  road  passed 
through  the  plantation  on  the  college  side  of  the 
chalet  he  descried  a  boy,  in  the  uniform  of  the  post 
office,  sliding  along  the  frozen  ditch.  A  presentiment 
of  evil  tidings  came  upon  him  like  a  darkening  of  the 
sky.     He  quickened  his  pace. 

"  Anything  for  me?  "  he  said. 

The  boy,  who  knew  him,  fumbled  in  a  letter  case 
and  produced  a  buff  envelope.  It  contained  a  tele- 
gram. 

From  Jansenius,  London. 

To   J.  Smilash,  Chamounix  Villa,  Lyvem. 


Henrietta 

dangerously 

ill 

after 

journey 

wants 

to 

see 

you 

doctors 

say 

must 

come 

at 

once 

There  was  a  pause.  Then  he  folded  the  paper 
methodically  and  put  it  in  his  pocket,  as  if  quite  done 
with  it. 

r  '^  And  so,"  he  said,  "  perhaps  the  tragedy  is  to  fol- 
jlow  the  farce  after  all." 

173 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

He  looked  at  the  boy,  who  retreated,  not  liking  his 
expression. 

"  Did  you  slide  all  the  way  from  Lyvern?  " 

"  Only  to  come  quicker/'  said  the  messenger,  falter- 
ing.    "  I  came  as  quick  as  I  could." 

"  You  carried  news  heavy  enough  to  break  the 
thickest  ice  ever  frozen.  I  have  a  mind  to  throw  you 
over  the  top  of  that  tree  instead  of  giving  you  this 
half-crown." 

"  You  let  me  alone,"  whimpered  the  boy,  retreating 
another  pace. 

'"  Get  back  to  Lyvern  as  fast  as  you  can  run  or  slide, 
and  tell  Mr.  Marsh  to  send  me  the  fastest  trap  he  has, 
to  drive  me  to  the  railway  station.  Here  is  your  half- 
crown.  Off  with  you;  and  if  I  do  not  find  the  trap 
ready  when  I  want  it,  woe  betide  you." 

The  boy  came  for  the  money  mistrustfully,  and  ran 
off  with  it  as  fast  as  he  could.  Smilash  went  into  the 
chalet  and  never  reappeared.  Instead,  Trefusis,  a 
gentleman  in  an  ulster,  carrying  a  rug,  came  out, 
locked  the  door,  and  hurried  along  the  road  to  Lyvern, 
where  he  was  picked  up  by  the  trap,  and  carried 
swiftly  to  the  railway  station,  just  in  time  to  catch  the 
London  train. 

"  Evening  paper,  sir?  "  said  a  voice  at  the  window, 
as  he  settled  himself  in  the  corner  of  a  first-class  car- 
riage. 

"  No,  thank  you." 

"  Footwarmer,  sir?  "  said  a  porter,  appearing  in  the 
newsvender's  place. 

173 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"  Ah,  that's  a  good  idea.  Yes,  let  me  have  a  foot- 
warmer." 

The  footwarmer  was  brought,  and  Trefusis  com- 
posed himself  comfortably  for  his  journey.  It  seemed 
very  short  to  him;  he  could  hardly  believe,  when  the 
train  arrived  in  London,  that  he  had  been  nearly  three 
hours  on  the  way. 

There  was  a  sense  of  Christmas  about  the  travellers 
and  the  people  who  were  at  the  terminus  to  meet  them. 
The  porter  who  came  to  the  carriage  door  reminded 
Trefusis  by  his  manner  and  voice  that  the  season  was 
one  at  which  it  becomes  a  gentleman  to  be  festive  and 
liberal. 

"Wot  luggage,  sir?     Ensom  or  fourweoll,  sir?" 

For  a  moment  Trefusis  felt  a  vagabond  impulse  to 
resume  the  language  of  Smilash  and  fable  to  the  man 
of  hampers  of  turkey  and  plum-pudding  in  the  van. 
But  he  repressed  it,  got  into  a  hansom,  and  was  driven 
to  his  father-in-law's  house  in  Belsize  Avenue,  study- 
ing in  a  gloomily  critical  mood  the  anxiety  that  surged 
upon  him  and  made  his  heart  beat  like  a  boy's  as  he 
drew  near  his  destination.  There  were  two  carriages 
at  the  door  when  he  alighted.  The  reticent  expres- 
sion of  the  coachmen  sent  a  tremor  through  him. 

The  door  opened  before  he  rang.  "  If  you  please, 
sir,"  said  the  maid  in  a  low  voice,  "  will  you  step  into 
the  library;  and  the  doctor  will  see  you  immediately." 

On  the  first  landing  of  the  staircase  two  gentlemen 
were  speaking  to  Mr.  Jansenius,  who  hastily  moved 
out  of  sight,  not  before  a  glimpse  of  his  air  of  grief 
174 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

and  discomfiture  had  given  Trefusis  a  strange  twinge, 
succeeded  by  a  sensation  of  having  been  twenty  years 
a  widower.  He  smiled  unconcernedly  as  he  followed 
the  girl  into  the  library,  and  asked  her  how  she  did. 
She  murmured  some  reply  and  hurried  away,  think- 
ing that  the  poor  young  man  would  alter  his  tone 
presently. 

He  was  joined  at  once  by  a  gray  whiskered  gentle- 
man, scrupulously  dressed  and  mannered.  Trefusis 
introduced  himself,  and  the  physician  looked  at  him 
with  some  interest.     Then  he  said: 

"  You  have  arrived  too  late,  Mr.  Trefusis.  All  is 
over,  I  am  sorry  to  say." 

"Was  the  long  railway  journey  she  took  in  this 
cold  weather  the  cause  of  her  death?  " 

Some  bitter  words  that  the  physician  had  heard  up- 
stairs made  him  aware  that  this  was  a  delicate  ques- 
tion. But  he  said  quietly:  "  The  proximate  cause, 
doubtless.     The  proximate  cause." 

"  She  received  some  unwelcome  and  quite  unlooked- 
for  intelligence  before  she  started.  Had  that  any- 
thing to  do  with  her  death,  do  you  think?  " 

"  It  may  have  produced  an  unfavorable  effect,"  said 
the  physician,  growing  restive  and  taking  up  his 
gloves.  "  The  habit  of  referring  such  events  to  such 
causes  is  carried  too  far,  as  a  rule." 

"  No  doubt.  I  am  curious  because  the  event  is 
novel  in  my  experience.  I  suppose  it  is  a  common- 
place in  yours." 

"  Pardon  me.  The  loss  of  a  lady  so  young  and  so 
175 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

favorably  circumstanced  is  not  a  commonplace  either 
in  my  experience  or  in  my  opinion."  The  physician 
held  up  his  head  as  he  spoke,  in  protest  against  any 
assumption  that  his  sympathies  had  been  blunted  by 
his  profession. 

"Did  she  suffer?" 

"  For  some  hours,  yes.  We  were  able  to  do  a  little 
to  alleviate  her  pain — poor  thing! "  He  almost  for- 
got Trefusis  as  he  added  the  apostrophe. 

"  Hours  of  pain!  Can  you  conceive  any  good  pur- 
pose that  those  hours  may  have  served  ?  " 

The  physician  shook  his  head,  leaving  it  doubtful 
whether  he  meant  to  reply  in  the  negative  or  to  de- 
plore considerations  of  that  nature.  He  also  made  a 
movement  to  depart,  being  uneasy  in  conversation 
with  Trefusis,  who  would,  he  felt  sure,  presently  ask 
questions  or  make  remarks  with  which  he  could  hardly 
deal  without  committing  himself  in  some  direction. 
His  conscience  was  not  quite  at  rest.  Henrietta's  pain 
had  not,  he  thought,  served  any  good  purpose;  but  he 
did  not  want  to  say  so,  lest  he  should  acquire  a  repu- 
tation for  impiety  and  lose  his  practice.  He  believed 
that  the  general  practitioner  who  attended  the  family, 
and  had  called  him  in  when  the  case  grew  serious,  had 
treated  Henrietta  unskilfully,  but  professional  eti- 
quette bound  him  so  strongly  that,  sooner  than  betray 
his  colleague's  inefficiency,  he  would  have  allowed  him 
to  decimate  London. 

"  One  word  more,"  said  Trefusis.  "  Did  she  know 
that  she  was  dying?  " 

176 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

'^  No.  I  considered  it  best  that  she  should  not  be 
informed  of  her  danger.  She  passed  away  without 
any  apprehension." 

"  Then  one  can  think  of  it  with  equanimity.  She 
dreaded  death,  poor  child.  The  wonder  is  that  there 
was  not  enough  folly  in  the  household  to  prevail 
against  your  good  sense." 

The  physician  bowed  and  took  his  leave,  esteeming 
himself  somewhat  fortunate  in  escaping  without  being 
reproached  for  his  humanity  in  having  allowed  Henri- 
etta to  die  unawares. 

A  moment  later  the  general  practitioner  entered. 
Trefusis,  having  accompanied  the  consulting  physi- 
cian to  the  door,  detected  the  family  doctor  in  the  act 
of  pulling  a  long  face  just  outside  it.  Kestraining  a 
desire  to  seize  him  by  the  throat,  he  seated  himself  on 
the  edge  of  the  table  and  said  cheerfully: 

"Well,  doctor,  how  has  the  world  used  you  since 
we  last  met?  " 

The  doctor  was  taken  aback,  but  the  solemn  dis- 
position of  his  features  did  not  relax  as  he  almost 
intoned:  "  Has  Sir  Francis  told  you  the  sad  news,  Mr. 
Trefusis?" 

"Yes.  Frightful,  isn't  it?  Lord  bless  me,  we're 
here  to-day  and  gone  to-morrow." 

"  True,  very  true!  " 

'^  Sir  Francis  has  a  high  opinion  of  you." 

The  doctor  looked  a  little  foolish.     "Everything 
was  done  that  could  be  done,  Mr.  Trefusis;  but  Mrs. 
Jansenius  was  very  anxious  that  no  stone  should  be 
12  177 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

left  unturned.  She  was  good  enough  to  say  that  her 
sole  reason  for  wishing  me  to  call  in  Sir  Francis  was 
that  you  should  have  no  cause  to  complain." 

"Indeed!" 

"  An  excellent  mother!  A  sad  event  for  her!  Ah, 
yes,  yes!     Dear  me!     A  very  sad  event!  " 

"  Most  disagreeable.  Such  a  cold  day  too.  Pleas- 
anter  to  be  in  heaven  than  here  in  such  weather,  pos- 
sibly." 

"  Ah! "  said  the  doctor,  as  if  much  sound  comfort 
lay  in  that.  "  I  hope  so;  I  hope  so;  I  do  not  doubt 
it.  Sir  Francis  did  not  permit  us  to  tell  her,  and 
I,  of  course,  deferred  to  him.  Perhaps  it  was  for  the 
best." 

"  You  would  have  told  her,  then,  if  Sir  Francis  had 
not  objected?" 

"  Well,  there  are,  you  see,  considerations  which  we 
must  not  ignore  in  our  profession.  Death  is  a  serious 
thing,  as  I  am  sure  I  need  not  remind  you,  Mr.  Tre- 
fusis.  We  have  sometimes  higher  duties  than  indul- 
gence to  the  natural  feelings  of  our  patients." 

"  Quite  so.  The  possibility  of  eternal  bliss  and  the 
probability  of  eternal  torment  are  consolations  not  to 
be  lightly  withheld  from  a  dying  girl,  eh?  However, 
what's  past  cannot  be  mended.  I  have  much  to  be 
thankful  for,  after  all.  I  am  a  young  man,  and  shall 
not  cut  a  bad  figure  as  a  widower.  And  now  tell  me, 
doctor,  am  I  not  in  very  bad  repute  upstairs?  " 

"  Mr.  Trefusis!  Sir!  I  cannot  meddle  in  family 
matters.  I  understand  my  duties  and  never  over- 
178 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

step  them."  The  doctor,  shocked  at  last,  spoke  as 
loftily  as  he  could. 

"  Then  I  will  go  and  see  Mr.  Jansenius,"  said  Tre- 
fusis,  getting  off  the  table. 

"  Stay,  sir!  One  moment.  I  have  not  finished. 
Mrs.  Jansenius  has  asked  me  to  ask — I  was  about  to 
fiay  that  I  am  not  speaking  now  as  the  medical  adviser 
of  this  family;  but  although  an  old  friend — and — 
ahem!  Mrs.  Jansenius  has  asked  me  to  ask — to  re- 
quest you  to  excuse  Mr.  Jansenius,  as  he  is  prostrated 
by  grief,  and  is,  as  I  can — as  a  medical  man — assure 
you,  unable  to  see  anyone.  She  will  speak  to  you  her- 
self as  soon  as  she  feels  able  to  do  so — at  some  time 
this  evening.  Meanwhile,  of  course,  any  orders  you 
may  give — you  must  be  fatigued  by  your  journey,  and 
I  always  recommend  people  not  to  fast  too  long;  it 
produces  an  acute  form  of  indigestion — any  orders 
you  may  wish  to  give  will,  of  course,  be  attended  to 
at  once." 

"  I  think,"  said  Trefusis,  after  a  moment's  reflec- 
tion, '^  I  will  order  a  hansom." 

"  There  is  no  ill-feeling,"  said  the  doctor,  who,  as 
a  slow  man,  was  usually  alarmed  by  prompt  decisions, 
even  when  they  seemed  wise  to  him,  as  this  one  did. 
"  I  hope  you  have  not  gathered  from  anything  I  have 
said " 

"  Xot  at  all;  you  have  displayed  the  utmost  tact. 

But  I  think  I  had  better  go.     Jansenius  can  bear 

death  and  misery  with  perfect  fortitude  when  it  is  on 

a  large  scale  and  hidden  in  a  back  slum.     But  when 

179 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

it  breaks  into  his  own  house,  and  attacks  his  property 
— his  daughter  was  his  property  until  very  recently — 
he  is  just  the  man  to  lose  his  head  and  quarrel  with 
me  for  keeping  mine/' 

The  doctor  was  unable  to  cope  with  this  speech, 
which  conveyed  vaguely  monstrous  ideas  to  him.  See- 
ing Trefusis  about  to  leave,  he  said  in  a  low  voice: 
"  Will  you  go  upstairs? '' 

"Upstairs!     Why?" 

"I — I  thought  you  might  wish  to  see ^'     He 

did  not  finish  the  sentence,  but  Trefusis  flinched;  the 
blank  had  expressed  what  was  meant. 

"  To  see  something  that  was  Henrietta,  and  that  is 
a  thing  we  must  cast  out  and  hide,  with  a  little  super- 
stitious mumming  to  save  appearances.  Why  did 
you  remind  me  of  it?  " 

"But,  sir,  whatever  your  views  may  be,  will  you 
not,  as  a  matter  of  form,  in  deference  to  the  feelings 
of  the  family " 

"  Let  them  spare  their  feelings  for  the  living,  on 
whose  behalf  I  have  often  appealed  to  them  in  vain," 
cried  Trefusis,  losing  patience.  "Damn  their  feel- 
ings! "  And,  turning  to  the  door,  he  found  it  open, 
and  Mrs.  Jansenius  there  listening. 

Trefusis  was  confounded.  He  knew  what  the  effect 
of  his  speech  must  be,  and  felt  that  it  would  be  folly 
to  attempt  excuse  or  explanation.  He  put  his  hands 
into  his  pockets,  leaned  against  the  table,  and  looked 
at  her,  mutely  wondering  what  would  follow  on  her 
part. 

180 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

The  doctor  broke  the  silence  by  saying  tremulously, 
"I  have  communicated  the  melancholy  intelligence 
to  Mr.  Trefusis." 

"  I  hope  you  told  him  also,"  she  said  sternly,  "  that, 
however  deficient  we  may  be  in  feeling,  we  did  every- 
thing that  lay  in  our  power  for  our  child." 

"  I  am  quite  satisfied,"  said  Trefusie. 

"  No  doubt  you  are — with  the  result,"  said  Mrs. 
Jansenius,  hardly.  "  I  wish  to  know  whether  you 
have  anything  to  complain  of." 

"  Nothing." 

"  Please  do  not  imply  that  anything  has  happened 
through  our  neglect." 

"  What  have  I  to  complain  of?  She  had  a  warm 
room  and  a  luxurious  bed  to  die  in,  with  the  best  medi- 
cal advice  in  the  world.  Plenty  of  people  are  starving 
and  freezing  to-day  that  we  may  have  the  means  to 
die  fashionably;  ask  them  if  they  have  any  cause  for 
complaint.  Do  you  think  I  will  wrangle  over  her 
body  about  the  amount  of  money  spent  on  her  illness? 
"What  measure  is  that  of  the  cause  she  had  for  com- 
plaint? I  never  grudged  money  to  her — how  could  I, 
seeing  that  more  than  I  can  waste  is  given  to  me  for 
nothing?  Or  how  could  you?  Yet  she  had  great 
reason  to  complain  of  me.  You  will  allow  that  to  be 
so.". 

"  It  is  perfectly  true." 

"  Well,  when  I  am  in  the  humor  for  it,  I  will  re- 
proach myself  and  not  you."  He  paused,  and  then 
turned  forcibly  on  her,  saying,  "Why  do  you  select 

181 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

this   time,   of   all   others,   to   speak   so   bitterly   to 
me?'^ 

"I  am  not  aware  that  I  have  said  anything  to  call 
for  such  a  remark.  Did  you  ^'  (appealing  to  the  doc- 
tor) "  hear  me  say  anything?  " 

"  Mr.  Trefusis  does  not  mean  to  say  that  yon  did, 
I  am  sure.  Oh,  no.  Mr.  Trefusis's  feelings  are  natu- 
rally— are  harrowed.     That  is  all." 

"  My  feelings!  "  cried  Trefusis  impatiently.  "  Do 
you  suppose  my  feelings  are  a  trumpery  set  of  social 
observances,  to  be  harrowed  to  order  and  exhibited 
at  funerals?  She  has  gone  as  we  three  shall  go  soon 
enough.  If  we  were  immortal,  we  might  reasonably 
pity  the  dead.  As  we  are  not,  we  had  better  save  our 
energies  to  minimize  the  harm  we  are  likely  to  do 
before  we  follow  her." 

The  doctor  was  deeply  offended  by  this  speech,  for 
the  statement  that  he  should  one  day  die  seemed  to 
him  a  reflection  upon  his  professional  mastery  over 
death.  Mrs.  Jansenius  was  glad  to  see  Trefusis  con- 
firming her  bad  opinion  and  report  of  him  by  his  con- 
duct and  language  in  the  doctor's  presence.  There 
was  a  brief  pause,  and  then  Trefusis,  too  far  out  of 
S3rmpathy  with  them  to  be  able  to  lead  the  conversa- 
tion into  a  kinder  vein,  left  the  room.  In  the  act  of 
putting  on  his  overcoat  in  the  hall,  he  hesitated,  and 
hung  it  up  again  irresolutely.  Suddenly  he  ran  up- 
stairs. At  the  sound  of  his  steps  a  woman  came  from 
one  of  the  rooms  and  looked  inquiringly  at  him. 

"  Is  it  here?  "  he  said. 

183 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"  Yes,  sir,"  she  whispered. 

A  painful  sense  of  constriction  came  in  his  chest, 
and  he  turned  pale  and  stopped  with  his  hand  on  the 
lock. 

"Don't  be  afraid,  sir,"  said  the  woman,  with  an 
encouraging  smile.     "  She  looks  beautiful." 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  strange  grin,  as  if  she  had 
uttered  a  ghastly  but  irresistible  joke.  Then  he  went 
in,  and,  when  he  reached  the  bed,  wished  he  had 
stayed  without.  He  was  not  one  of  those  who,  seeing 
little  in  the  faces  of  the  living  miss  little  in  the  faces 
of  the  dead.  The  arrangement  of  the  black  hair  on 
the  pillow,  the  soft  drapery,  and  the  flowers  placed 
there  by  the  nurse  to  complete  the  artistic  effect  to 
which  she  had  so  confidently  referred,  were  lost  on 
him;  he  saw  only  a  lifeless  mask  that  had  been  his 
wife's  face,  and  at  sight  of  it  his  knees  failed,  and  he 
had  to  lean  for  support  on  the  rail  at  the  foot  of  the 
bed. 

When  he  looked  again  the  face  seemed  to  have 
changed.  It  was  no  longer  a  waxlike  mask,  but  Hen- 
rietta, girlish  and  pathetically  at  rest.  Death  seemed 
to  have  cancelled  her  marriage  and  womanhood;  he 
had  never  seen  her  look  so  young.  A  minute  passed, 
and  then  a  tear  dropped  on  the  coverlet.  He  started; 
shook  another  tear  on  his  hand,  and  stared  at  it  in- 
credulously. 

"  This  is  a  fraud  of  which  I  have  never  even 
dreamed,"  he  said.  "  Tears  and  no  sorrow!  Here  am 
I  crying!  growing  maudlin!  whilst  I  am  glad  that  she 
15;3 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

is  gone  and  I  free.  I  have  the  mechanism  of  grief  in 
me  somewhere;  it  begins  to  turn  at  sight  of  her  though 
I  have  no  sorrow;  just  as  she  used  to  start  the  mechan- 
ism of  passion  when  I  had  no  love.  And  that  made 
no  difference  to  her;  whilst  the  wheels  went  round 
she  was  satisfied.  I  hope  the  mechanism  of  grief  will 
flag  and  stop  in  its  spinning  as  soon  as  the  other  used 
to.  It  is  stopping  already,  I  think.  What  a  mocker3\f 
Whilst  it  lasts  I  suppose  I  am  really  sorry.  And  yet, 
would  I  restore  her  to  life  if  I  could?  Perhaps  so;  I 
am  therefore  thankful  that  I  cannot.^'  He  folded  his 
arms  on  the  rail  and  gravely  addressed  the  dead  figure, 
which  still  affected  him  so  strongly  that  he  had  to 
exert  his  will  to  face  it  with  composure.  "  If  you 
really  loved  me,  it  is  well  for  you  that  you  are  dead 
— idiot  that  I  was  to  believe  that  the  passion  you  could 
inspire,  you  poor  child,  would  last.  We  are  both 
lucky;  I  have  escaped  from  you,  and  you  have  escaped 
from  yourself." 

Presently  he  breathed  more  freely  and  looked  round 
the  room  to  help  himself  into  a  matter-of-fact  vein  by 
a  little  unembarrassed  action,  and  the  commonplace 
aspect  of  the  bedroom  furniture.  He  went  to  the  pil- 
low, and  bent  over  it,  examining  the  face  closely. 

"  Poor  child!  '^  he  said  again,  tenderly.  Then,  with 
sudden  reaction,  apostrophizing  himself  instead  of  his 
wife,  "Poor  ass!  Poor  idiot!  Poor  jackanapes! 
Here  is  the  body  of  a  woman  who  was  nearly  as  old 
as  myself,  and  perhaps  wiser,  and  here  am  I  moraliz- 
ing over  it  as  if  I  were  God  Almighty  and  she  a  baby! 
184 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

The  more  you  remind  a  man  of  what  he  is,  the  more 
conceited  he  becomes.  Monstrous!  I  shall  feel  im- 
mortal presently." 

He  touched  the  cheek  with  a  faint  attempt  at  rough- 
ness, to  feel  how  cold  it  was.  Then  he  touched  his 
own,  and  remarked: 

"  This  is  what  I  am  hastening  toward  at  the  express 
speed  of  sixty  minutes  an  hour! "  He  stood  looking 
down  at  the  face  and  tasting  this  sombre  reflection  for 
a  long  time.  When  it  palled  on  him,  he  roused  him- 
self, and  exclaimed  more  cheerfully: 

"After  all,  she  is  not  dead.  Every  word  she  ut- 
tered— every  idea  she  formed  and  expressed,  was  an 
inexhaustible  and  indestructible  impulse."  He 
paused,  considered  a  little  further,  and  relapsed  into 
gloom,  adding,  "  And  the  dozen  others  whose  names 
will  be  with  hers  in  the  ^  Times '  to-morrow?  Their 
words  too  are  still  in  the  air,  to  endure  there  to  all 
eternity.  Hm!  How  the  air  must  be  crammed  with 
nonsense!  Two  sounds  sometimes  produce  a  silence; 
perhaps  ideas  neutralize  one  another  in  some  analogous 
way.  No,  my  dear;  you  are  dead  and  gone  and  done 
with,  and  I  shall  be  dead  and  gone  and  done  with  too 
soon  to  leave  me  leisure  to  fool  myself  with  hopes  of 
immortality.  Poor  Hetty!  Well,  good-by,  my  dar- 
ling. Let  us  pretend  for  a  moment  that  you  can  hear 
that;  I  know  it  will  please  you." 

All  this  was  in  a  half -articulate  whisper.  When  he 
ceased  he  still  bent  over  the  body,  gazing  intently  at 
it.  Even  when  he  had  exhausted  the  subject,  and 
185 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

turned  to  go,  he  changed  his  mind,  and  looked  again 
for  a  while.  Then  he  stood  erect,  apparently  nerved 
and  refreshed,  and  left  the  room  with  a  firm  step. 
The  woman  was  waiting  outside.  Seeing  that  he  was 
less  distressed  than  when  he  entered,  she  said: 

"  I  hope  you  are  satisfied,  sir!  " 

"  Delighted!  Charmed!  The  arrangements  are 
extremely  pretty  and  tasteful.  Most  consolatory." 
And  he  gave  her  half  a  sovereign. 

*^I  thank  you,  sir,"  she  said,  dropping  a  curtsey. 
"  The  poor  young  lady!  She  was  anxious  to  see  you, 
sir.  To  hear  her  say  that  you  were  the  only  one  that 
cared  for  her!  And  so  fretful  with  her  mother,  too. 
*  Let  him  be  told  that  I  am  dangerously  ill,'  says  she, 
*and  he'll  come.'  She  didn't  know  how  true  her 
word  was,  poor  thing;  and  she  went  off  without  being 
aware  of  it." 

"Flattering  herself  and  flattering  me.  Happy 
girl!  " 

"  Bless  you,  I  know  what  her  feelings  were,  sir;  I 
have  had  experience."  Here  she  approached  him  con- 
fidentially, and  whispered:  "  The  family  were  again' 
you,  sir,  and  she  knew  it.  But  she  wouldn't  listen 
to  them.  She  thought  of  nothing,  when  she  was 
easy  enough  to  think  at  all,  but  of  your  coming.  And 
— hush!     Here's  the  old  gentleman." 

Trefusis  looked  round  and  saw  Mr.  Jansenius, 
whose  handsome  face  was  white  and  seamed  with 
grief  and  anno3^ance.  He  drew  back  from  the  prof- 
fered hand  of  his  son-in-law,  like  an  overworried  child 

186 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

from  an  ill-timed  attempt  to  pet  it.  Trefusis  pitied 
him.     The  nurse  coughed  and  retired. 

"  Have  you  been  speaking  to  Mrs.  Jansenius? ''  said 
Trefusis. 

"  Yes/^  said  Jansenius  offensively. 

"  So  have  I,  unfortunately.  Pray  make  my  apolo- 
gies to  her.  I  was  rude.  The  circumstances  upset 
me." 

"You  are  not  upset,  sir/'  said  Jansenius  loudly. 
**  You  do  not  care  a  damn." 

Trefusis  recoiled. 

"  You  damned  my  feelings,  and  I  will  damn  yours," 
continued  Jansenius  in  the  same  tone.  Trefusis  in- 
voluntarily looked  at  the  door  through  which  he  had 
lately  passed.  Then,  recovering  himself,  he  said 
quietly: 

"  It  does  not  matter.     She  can't  hear  us." 

Before  Jansenius  could  reply  his  wife  hurried  up- 
stairs, caught  him  by  the  arm,  and  said,  "  Don't  speak 
to  him,  John.  And  you,"  she  added,  to  Trefusis, 
"  will  you  begone?  " 

"  What!  "  he  said,  looking  cynically  at  her.  "  With- 
out my  dead!     Without  my  property!    Well,  be  it  so." 

"  What  do  you  know  of  the  feelings  of  a  respectable 
man?"  persisted  Jansenius,  breaking  out  again  in 
spite  of  his  wife.  "  N^othing  is  sacred  to  you.  This 
shows  what  Socialists  are!  " 

"  And  what  fathers  are,  and  what  mothers  are,"  re- 
torted Trefusis,  giving  way  to  his  temper.  "I  thought 
you  loved  Hetty,  but  I  see  that  you  only  love  your 

187 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

feelings  and  your  respectability.  The  devil  take  both! 
She  was  right;  my  love  for  her,  incomplete  as  it  was, 
was  greater  than  yours/'  And  he  left  the  house  in 
dudgeon. 

But  he  stood  awhile  in  the  avenue  to  laugh  at  him- 
self and  his  father-in-law.  Then  he  took  a  hansom 
and  was  driven  to  the  house  of  his  solicitor,  whom  he 
wished  to  consult  on  the  settlement  of  his  late  wife's 
affairs. 


188 


CHAPTER   X 

The  remains  of  Henrietta  Trefusis  were  interred 
in  Highgate  Cemetery  the  day  before  Christmas  Eve. 
Three  noblemen  sent  their  carriages  to  the  funeral, 
and  the  friends  and  clients  of  Mr.  Jansenius,  to  a  large 
number,  attended  in  person.  The  bier  was  covered 
with  a  profusion  of  costly  flowers.  The  undertaker, 
instructed  to  spare  no  expense,  provided  long-tailed 
black  horses,  with  black  palls  on  their  backs  and 
black  plumes  upon  their  foreheads;  coachmen  deco- 
rated with  scarves  and  jack-boots,  black  hammer- 
cloths,  cloaks,  and  gloves,  with  many  hired  mourners, 
who,  however,  would  have  been  instantly  discharged 
had  they  presumed  to  betray  emotion,  or  in  any  way 
overstep  their  function  of  walking  beside  the  hearse 
with  brass-tipped  batons  in  their  hands. 

Among  the  genuine  mourners  were  Mr.  Jansenius, 
who  burst  into  tears  at  the  ceremony  of  casting  earth 
on  the  coffin;  the  boy  Arthur,  who,  preoccupied  by 
the  novelty  of  appearing  in  a  long  cloak  at  the  head  of 
a  public  procession,  felt  that  he  was  not  so  sorry  as  he 
ought  to  be  when  he  saw  his  papa  cry;  and  a  cousin 
who  had  once  asked  Henrietta  to  marry  him,  and  who 
now,  full  of  tragic  reflections,  was  enjoying  his  despair 
intensely. 

189 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

The  rest  whispered,  whenever  they  could  decently 
do  so,  about  a  strange  omission  in  the  arrangements. 
The  husband  of  the  deceased  was  absent.  Members 
of  the  family  and  intimate  friends  were  told  by  Daniel 
Jansenius  that  the  widower  had  acted  in  a  blackguard 
way,  and  that  the  Janseniuses  did  not  care  two-pence 
whether  he  came  or  stayed  at  home;  that,  but  for  the 
indecency  of  the  thing,  they  were  just  as  glad  that  he 
was  keeping  away.  Others,  who  had  no  claim  to  be 
privately  informed,  made  inquiries  of  the  undertaker's 
foreman,  who  said  he  understood  the  gentleman  ob- 
jected to  large  funerals.  Asked  why,  he  said  he  sup- 
posed it  was  on  the  ground  of  expense.  This  being 
met  by  a  remark  that  Mr.  Trefusis  was  very  wealthy, 
he  added  that  he  had  been  told  so,  but  believed  the 
money  had  not  come  from  the  lady;  that  people  sel- 
dom cared  to  go  to  a  great  expense  for  a  funeral  unless 
they  came  into  something  good  by  the  death;  and  that 
some  parties  the  more  they  had  the  more  they 
grudged.  Before  the  funeral  guests  dispersed,  the 
report  spread  by  Mr.  Jansenius's  brother  had  got 
mixed  with  the  views  of  the  foreman,  and  had  given 
rise  to  a  story  of  Trefusis  expressing  joy  at  his  wife's 
death  with  frightful  oaths  in  her  father's  house  whilst 
she  lay  dead  there,  and  refusing  to  pay  a  farthing  of 
her  debts  or  funeral  expenses. 

Some  days  later,  when  gossip  on  the  subject  was 
subsiding,  a  fresh  scandal  revived  it.  A  literary  friend 
of  Mr.  Jansenius's  helped  him  to  compose  an  epitaph, 
and  added  to  it  a  couple  of  pretty  and  touching  stan- 

190 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

zas,  setting  forth  that  Henrietta's  character  had  been 
one  of  rare  sweetness  and  virtue,  and  that  her  friends 
would  never  cease  to  sorrow  for  her  loss.  A  trades- 
man who  described  himself  as  a  "monumental  mason" 
furnished  a  book  of  tomb  designs,  and  Mr.  Jansenius 
selected  a  highly  ornamental  one,  and  proposed  to  de- 
fray half  the  cost  of  its  erection.  Trefusis  objected 
that  the  epitaph  was  untrue,  and  said  that  he  did  not 
see  why  tombstones  should  be  privileged  to  publish 
false  statements.  It  was  reported  that  he  had  fol- 
lowed up  his  former  misconduct  by  calling  his  father- 
in-law  a  liar,  and  that  he  had  ordered  a  common  tomb- 
stone from  some  cheap-jack  at  the  East-end.  He  had, 
in  fact,  spoken  contemptuously  of  the  monumental 
tradesman  as  an  "  exploiter  "  of  labor,  and  had  asked 
a  young  working  mason,  a  member  of  the  Interna- 
tional Association,  to  design  a  monument  for  the 
gratification  of  Jansenius. 

The  mason,  with  much  pains  and  misgiving,  pro- 
duced an  original  design.  Trefusis  approved  of  it, 
and  resolved  to  have  it  executed  by  the  hands  of  the 
designer.  He  hired  a  sculptor's  studio,  purchased 
blocks  of  marble  of  the  dimensions  and  quality  de- 
scribed to  him  by  the  mason,  and  invited  him  to  set 
to  work  forthwith. 

Trefusis  now  encountered  a  difficulty.  He  wished 
to  pay  the  mason  the  just  value  of  his  work,  no  more 
and  no  less.  But  this  he  could  not  ascertain.  The 
only  available  standard  was  the  market  price,  and  this 
he  rejected  as  being  fixed  by  competition  among  capi- 

191 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

talists  who  could  only  secure  profit  by  obtaining  from 
their  workmen  more  products  than  they  paid  them 
for,  and  could  only  tempt  customers  by  offering  a 
share  of  the  unpaid-for  part  of  the  products  as  a  re- 
duction in  price.  Thus  he  found  that  the  system  of 
withholding  the  indispensable  materials  for  produc- 
tion and  subsistence  from  the  laborers,  except  on  con- 
dition of  their  supporting  an  idle  class  whilst  accept- 
ing a  lower  standard  of  comfort  for  themselves  than 
for  that  idle  class,  rendered  the  determination  of  Just 
ratios  of  exchange,  and  consequently  the  practice  of 
honest  dealing,  impossible.  He  had  at  last  to  ask  the 
mason  what  he  would  consider  fair  payment  for  the 
execution  of  the  design,  though  he  knew  that  the  man 
could  no  more  solve  the  problem  than  he,  and  that, 
though  he  would  certainly  ask  as  much  as  he  thought 
he  could  get,  his  demand  must  be  limited  by  his  pov- 
erty and  by  the  competition  of  the  monumental 
tradesman.  Trefusis  settled  the  matter  by  giving 
double  what  was  asked,  only  imposing  such  conditions 
as  were  necessary  to  compel  the  mason  to  execute  the 
work  himself,  and  not  make  a  profit  by  hiring  other 
men  at  the  market  rate  of  wages  to  do  it. 

But  the  design  was,  to  its  author's  astonishment,  to 
be  paid  for  separately.  The  mason,  after  hesitating 
a  long  time  between  two-pounds-ten  and  five  pounds, 
was  emboldened  by  a  fellow-workman,  who  treated 
him  to  some  hot  whiskey  and  water,  to  name  the 
larger  sum.  Trefusis  paid  the  money  at  once,  and 
then  set  himself  to  find  out  how  much  a  similar  de- 
192 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

sign  would  have  cost  from  the  hands  of  an  eminent 
Royal  Academician.  Happening  to  know  a  gentle- 
man in  this  position,  he  consulted  him,  and  was  in- 
formed that  the  probable  cost  would  be  from  five  hun- 
dred to  one  thousand  pounds.  Trefusis  expressed  his 
opinion  that  the  mason's  charge  was  the  more  reason- 
able, somewhat  to  the  indignation  of  his  artist  friend, 
who  reminded  him  of  the  years  which  a  Royal  Acade- 
mician has  to  spend  in  acquiring  his  skill.  Trefusis 
mentioned  that  the  apprenticeship  of  a  mason  was 
quite  as  long,  twice  as  laborious,  and  not  half  so  pleas- 
ant. The  artist  now  began  to  find  Trefusis's  Social- 
istic views,  with  which  he  had  previously  fancied  him- 
self in  sympathy,  both  odious  and  dangerous.  He 
demanded  whether  nothing  was  to  be  allowed  for 
genius.  Trefusis  warmly  replied  that  genius  cost  its 
possessor  nothing;  that  it  was  the  inheritance  of  the 
whole  race  incidentally  vested  in  a  single  individual, 
and  that  if  that  individual  employed  his  monopoly  of 
it  to  extort  money  from  others,  he  deserved  nothing 
better  than  hanging.  The  artist  lost  his  temper,  and 
suggested  that  if  Trefusis  could  not  feel  that  the  pre- 
rogative of  art  was  divine,  perhaps  he  could  under- 
stand that  a  painter  was  not  such  a  fool  as  to  design 
a  tomb  for  five  pounds  when  he  might  be  painting  a 
portrait  for  a  thousand.  Trefusis  retorted  that  the 
fact  of  a  man  paying  a  thousand  pounds  for  a  portrait 
proved  that  he  had  not  earned  the  money,  and  was 
therefore  either  a  thief  or  a  beggar.  The  common 
workman  who  sacrificed  sixpence  from  his  week's 
13  193 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

wages  for  a  cheap  photograph  to  present  to  his  sweet- 
heart, or  a  shilling  for  a  pair  of  chromolithographic 
pictures  or  delft  figures  to  place  on  his  mantelboard, 
suffered  greater  privation  for  the  sake  of  possessing  a 
work  of  art  than  the  great  landlord  or  shareholder  who 
paid  a  thousand  pounds,  which  he  was  too  rich  to  miss, 
for  a  portrait  that,  like  Hogarth's  Jack  Sheppard,  was 
only  interesting  to  students  of  criminal  physiognomy. 
A  lively  quarrel  ensued,  Tref usis  denouncing  the  folly 
of  artists  in  fancying  themselves  a  priestly  caste  when 
they  were  obviously  only  the  parasites  and  favored 
slaves  of  the  moneyed  classes,  and  his  friend  (tem- 
porarily his  enemy)  sneering  bitterly  at  levellers  who 
were  for  levelling  down  instead  of  levelling  up.  Fi- 
nally, tired  of  disputing,  and  remorseful  for  their  acri- 
mony, they  dined  amicably  together. 

The  monument  was  placed  in  Highgate  Cemetery 
by  a  small  band  of  workmen  whom  Trefusis  found 
out  of  employment.  It  bore  the  following  inscrip- 
tion: 

THIS  IS  THE  MONUMENT  OP 

HENRIETTA  JANSEISTIUS 

WHO   WAS   BORN   ON   THE   26tH   JULY,    1856, 

MARRIED  TO  SiDNEY  TrEFUSIS  ON  THE  23rD  AUGUST,  1875, 

AND    WHO    DIED    ON   THE   21ST    DECEMBER    IN    THE    SAME    YEAR. 

Mr.  Jansenius  took  this  as  an  insult  to  his  daugh- 
ter's memory,  and,  as  the  tomb  was  much  smaller  than 
many  which  had  been  erected  in  the  cemetery  by  fami- 
lies to  whom  the  Janseniuses  claimed  superiority, 

194 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

cited  it  as  an  example  of  the  widower's  meanness. 
But  by  other  persons  it  was  so  much  admired  that 
Trefusis  hoped  it  would  ensure  the  prosperity  of  its 
designer.  The  contrary  happened.  When  the  mason 
attempted  to  return  to  his  ordinary  work  he  was  in- 
formed that  he  had  contravened  trade  usage,  and  that 
his  former  employers  would  have  nothing  more  to  say 
to  him.  On  applying  for  advice  and  assistance  to  the 
trades-union  of  which  he  was  a  member  he  received 
the  same  reply,  and  was  further  reproached  for  treach- 
ery to  his  fellow-workmen.  He  returned  to  Trefusis 
to  say  that  the  tombstone  job  had  ruined  him.  Tre- 
fusis, enraged,  wrote  an  argumentative  letter  to  the 
"  Times,"  which  was  not  inserted,  a  sarcastic  one  to 
the  trades-union,  which  did  no  good,  and  a  fierce  one 
to  the  employers,  who  threatened  to  take  an  action  for 
libel.  He  had  to  content  himself  with  setting  the 
man  to  work  again  on  mantelpieces  and  other  decora- 
tive stone-work  for  use  in  house  property  on  the  Tre- 
fusis estate.  In  a  year  or  two  his  liberal  payments 
enabled  the  mason  to  save  sufficient  to  start  as  an  em- 
ployer, in  which  capacity  he  soon  began  to  grow  rich, 
as  he  knew  by  experience  exactly  how  much  his  work- 
men could  be  forced  to  do,  and  how  little  they  could 
be  forced  to  take.  Shortly  after  this  change  in  his 
circumstances  he  became  an  advocate  of  thrift,  tem- 
perance, and  steady  industry,  and  quitted  the  Inter- 
national Association,  of  which  he  had  been  an  enthu- 
siastic supporter  when  dependent  on  his  own  skill  and 
taste  as  a  working  mason. 

195 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

During  these  occurrences  Agatha's  school-life 
ended.  Her  resolution  to  study  hard  during  another 
term  at  the  college  had  been  formed,  not  for  the  sake 
of  becoming  learned,  but  that  she  might  become  more 
worthy  of  Smilash;  and  when  she  learned  the  truth 
about  him  from  his  own  lips,  the  idea  of  returning  to 
the  scene  of  that  humiliation  became  intolerable  to 
her.  She  left  under  the  impression  that  her  heart 
was  broken,  for  her  smarting  vanity,  by  the  law  of  its 
own  existence,  would  not  perceive  that  it  was  the  seat 
of  the  injury.  So  she  bade  Miss  Wilson  adieu;  and 
the  bee  on  the  window  pane  was  heard  no  more  at 
Alton  College. 

The  intelligence  of  Henrietta's  death  shocked  her 
the  more  because  she  could  not  help  being  glad  that 
the  only  other  person  who  knew  of  her  folly  with  re- 
gard to  Smilash  (himself  excepted)  was  now  silenced 
forever.  This  seemed  to  her  a  terrible  discovery  of 
her  own  depravity.  Under  its  influence  she  became 
almost  religious,  and  caused  some  anxiety  about  her 
health  to  her  mother,  who  was  puzzled  by  her  un- 
wonted seriousness,  and,  in  particular,  by  her  deter- 
mination  not  to  speak  of  the  misconduct  of  Trefusis, 
which  was  now  the  prevailing  topic  of  conversation  in 
the  family.  She  listened  in  silence  to  gossiping  dis- 
cussions of  his  desertion  of  his  wife,  his  heartless  in- 
difference to  her  decease,  his  violence  and  bad  lan- 
guage by  her  deathbed,  his  parsimony,  his  malicious 
opposition  to  the  wishes  of  the  Janseniuses,  his  cheap 
tombstone  with  the  insulting  epitaph,  his  association 
196 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

with  common  workmen  and  low  demagogues,  his  sus- 
pected connection  with  a  secret  society  for  the  assassi- 
nation of  the  royal  family  and  blowing  up  of  the 
army,  his  atheistic  denial,  in  a  pamphlet  addressed  to 
the  clergy,  of  a  statement  by  the  Archbishop  of  Can- 
terbury that  spiritual  aid  alone  could  improve  the  con- 
dition of  the  poor  in  the  East-end  of  London,  and  the 
crowning  disgrace  of  his  trial  for  seditious  libel  at  the 
Old  Bailey,  where  he  was  condemned  to  six  months' 
imprisonment;  a  penalty  from  which  he  was  rescued 
by  the  ingenuity  of  his  counsel,  who  discovered  a  flaw 
in  the  indictment,  and  succeeded,  at  great  cost  to  Tre- 
fusis,  in  getting  the  sentence  quashed.  Agatha  at 
last  got  tired  of  hearing  of  his  misdeeds.  She  be- 
lieved him  to  be  heartless,  selfish,  and  misguided,  but 
she  knew  that  he  was  not  the  loud,  coarse,  sensual, 
and  ignorant  brawler  most  of  her  mother's  gossips 
supposed  him  to  be.  She  even  felt,  in  spite  of  herself, 
an  emotion  of  gratitude  to  the  few  who  ventured  to 
defend  him. 

Preparation  for  her  first  season  helped  her  to  forget 
her  misadventure.  She  "  came  out  "  in  due  time,  and 
an  extremely  dull  season  she  found  it.  So  much  so, 
that  she  sometimes  asked  herself  whether  she  should 
ever  be  happy  again.  At  the  college  there  had  been 
goodfellowship,  fun,  rules,  and  duties  which  were  a 
source  of  strength  when  observed  and  a  source  of  de- 
licious excitement  when  violated,  freedom  from  cere- 
mony, toffee  making,  flights  on  the  banisters,  and 
appreciative  audiences  for  the  soldier  in  the  chimney. 
197 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

In  society  there  were  silly  conversations  lasting  half 
a  minute,  cool  acquaintanceships  founded  on  such 
half-minutes,  general  reciprocity  of  suspicion,  over- 
crowding, insufficient  ventilation,  bad  music  badly 
executed,  late  hours,  unwholesome  food,  intoxicating 
liquors,  jealous  competition  in  useless  expenditure, 
husband-hunting,  flirting,  dancing,  theatres,  and  con- 
certs. The  last  three,  which  Agatha  liked,  helped  to 
make  the  contrast  between  Alton  and  London  toler- 
able to  her,  but  they  had  their  drawbacks,  for  good 
partners  at  the  dances,  and  good  performances  at  the 
spiritless  opera  and  concerts,  were  disappointingly 
scarce.  Flirting  she  could  not  endure;  she  drove  men 
away  when  they  became  tender,  seeing  in  them  the 
falsehood  of  Smilash  without  his  wit.  She  was  con- 
sidered rude  by  the  younger  gentlemen  of  her  circle. 
They  discussed  her  bad  manners  among  themselves, 
and  agreed  to  punish  her  by  not  asking  her  to  dance. 
She  thus  got  rid,  without  knowing  why,  of  the  atten- 
tions she  cared  for  least  (she  retained  a  schoolgirl's 
cruel  contempt  for  "  boys ''),  and  enjoyed  herself  as 
best  she  could  with  such  of  the  older  or  more  sensible 
men  as  were  not  intolerant  of  girls. 

At  best  the  year  was  the  least  happy  she  had  ever 
spent.  She  repeatedly  alarmed  her  mother  by  broach- 
ing projects  of  becoming  a  hospital  nurse,  a  public 
singer,  or  an  actress.  These  projects  led  to  some  des- 
ultory studies.  In  order  to  qualify  herself  as  a 
nurse  she  read  a  handbook  of  physiology,  which  Mrs. 
Wylie  thought  so  improper  a  subject  for  a  young  lady 
198 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

that  she  went  in  tears  to  beg  Mrs.  Jansenius  to  remon- 
strate with  her  unruly  girl.  Mrs.  Jansenius,  better 
advised,  was  of  opinion  that  the  more  a  woman  knew 
the  more  wisely  she  was  likely  to  act,  and  that  Agatha 
would  soon  drop  the  physiology  of  her  own  accord. 
This  proved  true.  Agatha,  having  finished  her  book 
by  dint  of  extensive  skipping,  proceeded  to  study  pa- 
thology from  a  volume  of  clinical  lectures.  Finding 
her  own  sensations  exactly  like  those  described  in  the 
book  as  symptoms  of  the  direst  diseases,  she  put  it  by 
in  alarm,  and  took  up  a  novel,  which  was  free  from  the 
fault  she  had  found  in  the  lectures,  inasmuch  as  none 
of  the  emotions  it  described  in  the  least  resembled  any 
she  had  ever  experienced. 

After  a  brief  interval,  she  consulted  a  fashionable 
teacher  of  singing  as  to  whether  her  voice  was  strong 
enough  for  the  operatic  stage.  He  recommended  her 
to  study  with  him  for  six  years,  assuring  her  that  at 
the  end  of  that  period — if  she  followed  his  directions 
— she  should  be  the  greatest  singer  in  the  world.  To 
this  there  was,  in  her  mind,  the  conclusive  objection 
that  in  six  years  she  should  be  an  old  woman.  So  she 
resolved  to  try  privately  whether  she  could  not  get  on 
more  quickly  by  herself.  Meanwhile,  with  a  view  to 
the  drama  in  case  her  operatic  scheme  should  fail,  she 
took  lessons  in  elocution  and  gymnastics.  Practice  in 
these  improved  her  health  and  spirits  so  much  that 
her  previous  aspirations  seemed  too  limited.  She 
tried  her  hand  at  all  the  arts  in  succession,  but  was  too 
discouraged  by  the  weakness  of  her  first  attempts  to 
199 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

persevere.  She  knew  that  as  a  general  rule  there  are 
feeble  and  ridiculous  beginnings  to  all  excellence,  but 
she  never  applied  general  rules  to  her  own  case^,  still 
thinking  of  herself  as  an  exception  to  them,  just  as 
she  had  done  when  she  romanced  about  Smilash.  The 
illusions  of  adolescence  were  thick  upon  her. 

Meanwhile  her  progress  was  creating  anxieties  in 
which  she  had  no  share.  Her  paroxysms  of  exhilara- 
tion, followed  by  a  gnawing  sense  of  failure  and  use- 
lessness,  were  known  to  her  mother  only  as  "wildness" 
and  "  low  spirits/'  to  be  combated  by  needlework  as  a 
sedative,  or  beef  tea  as  a  stimulant.  Mrs.  Wylie  had 
learnt  by  rote  that  the  whole  duty  of  a  lady  is  to  be 
graceful,  charitable,  helpful,  modest,  and  disinter- 
ested whilst  awaiting  passively  whatever  lot  these  vir- 
tues may  induce.  But  she  had  learnt  by  experience 
that  a  lady's  business  in  society  is  to  get  married,  and 
that  virtues  and  accomplishments  alike  are  important 
only  as  attractions  to  eligible  bachelors.  As  this  truth 
is  shameful,  young  ladies  are  left  for  a  year  or  two  to 
find  it  out  for  themselves;  it  is  seldom  explicitly  con- 
veyed to  them  at  their  entry  into  society.  Hence  they 
often  throw  away  capital  bargains  in  their  first  sea- 
son, and  are  compelled  to  offer  themselves  at  greatly 
reduced  prices  subsequently,  when  their  attractions  be- 
gin to  stale.  This  was  the  fate  which  Mrs.  Wylie, 
warned  by  Mrs.  Jansenius,  feared  for  Agatha,  who, 
time  after  time  when  a  callow  gentleman  of  wealth 
and  position  was  introduced  to  her,  drove  him 
brusquely  away  as  soon  as  he  ventured  to  hint  that 

200 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

his  affections  were  concerned  in  their  acquaintance- 
ship. The  anxious  mother  had  to  console  herself  with 
the  fact  that  her  daughter  drove  away  the  ineligible 
as  ruthlessly  as  the  eligible,  formed  no  unworldly  at- 
tachments, was  still  very  young,  and  would  grow  less 
coy  as  she  advanced  in  years  and  in  what  Mrs.  Jan- 
senius  called  sense. 

But  as  the  seasons  went  by  it  remained  questionable 
whether  Agatha  was  the  more  to  be  congratulated  on 
having  begun  life  after  leaving  school  or  Henrietta 
on  having  finished  it. 


901 


CHAPTEK   XI 

Beandon  Beeches,  in  the  Thames  valley,  was  the 
seat  of  Sir  Charles  Brandon,  seventh  baronet  of  that 
name.  He  had  lost  his  father  before  attaining  his  ma- 
jority, and  had  married  shortly  afterwards;  so  that  in 
his  twenty-fifth  year  he  was  father  to  three  children. 
He  was  a  little  worn,  in  spite  of  his  youth,  but  he  was 
tall  and  agreeable,  had  a  winning  way  of  taking  a  kind 
and  soothing  view  of  the  misfortunes  of  others,  could 
tell  a  story  well,  liked  music  and  could  play  and  sing 
a  little,  loved  the  arts  of  design  and  could  sketch  a 
little  in  water  colors,  read  every  magazine  from  Lon- 
don to  Paris  that  criticised  pictures,  had  travelled  a 
little,  fished  a  little,  shot  a  little,  botanized  a  little, 
wandered  restlessly  in  the  footsteps  of  women,  and 
dissipated  his  energies  through  all  the  small  channels 
that  his  wealth  opened  and  his  talents  made  easy  to 
him.  He  had  no  large  knowledge  of  any  subject, 
though  he  had  looked  into  many  just  far  enough  to 
replace  absolute  unconsciousness  of  them  with  meas- 
urable ignorance.  Xever  having  enjoyed  the  sense 
of  achievement,  he  was  troubled  with  unsatisfied  aspi- 
rations that  filled  him  with  melancholy  and  convinced 
him  that  he  was  a  born  artist.  His  wife  found  him 
selfish,  peevish,  hankering  after  change,  and  prone  to 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

believe  that  he  was  attacked  by  dangerous  diseases 
when  he  was  only  catching  cold. 

Lady  Brandon,  who  believed  that  he  understood  all 
the  subjects  he  talked  about  because  she  did  not 
understand  them  herself,  was  one  of  his  disappoint- 
ments. In  person  she  resembled  none  of  the  types  of 
beauty  striven  after  by  the  painters  of  her  time,  but 
she  had  charms  to  which  few  men  are  insensible.  She 
was  tall,  soft,  and  stout,  with  ample  and  shapely  arms, 
shoulders,  and  hips.  With  her  small  head,  little  ears, 
pretty  lips,  and  roguish  eye,  she,  being  a  very  large 
creature,  presented  an  immensity  of  half  womanly, 
half  infantile  loveliness  which  smote  even  grave  men 
with  a  desire  to  clasp  her  in  their  arms  and  kiss  her. 
This  desire  had  scattered  the  desultory  intellectual 
culture  of  Sir  Charles  at  first  sight.  His  imagination 
invested  her  with  the  taste  for  the  fine  arts  which  he 
required  from  a  wife,  and  he  married  her  in  her  first 
season,  only  to  discover  that  the  amativeness  in  her 
temperament  was  so  little  and  languid  that  she  made 
all  his  attempts  at  fondness  ridiculous,  and  robbed 
the  caresses  for  which  he  had  longed  of  all  their  antici- 
pated ecstasy.  Intellectually  she  fell  still  further 
short  0?  his  hopes.  She  looked  upon  his  favorite  art 
of  painting  as  a  pastime  for  amateur  and  a  branch  of 
the  house-furnishing  trade  for  professional  artists. 
When  he  was  discussing  it  among  his  friends,  she 
would  offer  her  opinion  with  a  presumption  which  was 
the  more  trying  as  she  frequently  blundered  upon  a 
sound  conclusion  whilst  he  was  reasoning  his  way  to 
203 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

a  hollow  one  with  his  utmost  subtlety  and  seriousness. 
On  such  occasions  his  disgust  did  not  trouble  her  in 
the  least;  she  triumphed  in  it.  She  had  concluded 
that  marriage  was  a  greater  folly,  and  men  greater 
fools,  than  she  had  supposed;  but  such  beliefs  rather 
lightened  her  sense  of  responsibility  than  disappointed 
her,  and,  as  she  had  plenty  of  money,  plenty  of  serv- 
ants, plenty  of  visitors,  and  plenty  of  exercise  on 
horseback,  of  which  she  was  immoderately  fond,  her 
time  passed  pleasantly  enough.  Comfort  seemed  to 
her  the  natural  order  of  life;  trouble  always  surprised 
her.  Her  husband's  friends,  who  mistrusted  every 
future  hour,  and  found  matter  for  bitter  reflection  in 
many  past  ones,  were  to  her  only  examples  of  the 
power  of  sedentary  habits  and  excessive  reading  to 
make  men  hipped  and  dull. 

One  fine  May  morning,  as  she  cantered  along  the 
avenue  at  Brandon  Beeches  on  a  powerful  bay  horse, 
the  gates  at  the  end  opened  and  a  young  man  sped 
through  them  on  a  bicycle.  He  was  of  slight  frame, 
with  fine  dark  eyes  and  delicate  nostrils.  When  he 
recognized  Lady  Brandon  he  waved  his  cap,  and  when 
they  met  he  sprang  from  his  inanimate  steed,  at  which 
the  bay  horse  shied. 

"  Don't,  you  silly  beast! "  she  cried,  whacking  the 
animal  with  the  butt  of  her  whip.  "Though  it's 
natural  enough,  goodness  knows!  How  d'ye  do?  The 
idea  of  anyone  rich  enough  to  aiford  a  horse  riding 
on  a  wheel  like  that!  " 

"  But  I  am  not  rich  enough  to  afford  a  horse,"  he 

204 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

said,  approaching  her  to  pat  the  bay,  having  placed 
the  bicycle  against  a  tree.  "  Besides,  I  am  afraid  of 
horses,  not  being  accustomed  to  them;  and  I  know- 
nothing  about  feeding  them.  My  steed  needs  no 
food.  He  doesn't  bite  nor  kick.  He  never  goes  lame, 
nor  sickens,  nor  dies,  nor  needs  a  groom,  nor " 

'^  That's  all  bosh,"  said  Lady  Brandon  impetuously. 
"  It  stumbles,  and  gives  you  the  most  awful  tosses, 
and  it  goes  lame  by  its  treadles  and  thingamejigs  com- 
ing off,  and  it  wears  out,  and  is  twice  as  much  trouble 
to  keep  clean  and  scrape  the  mud  off  as  a  horse,  and 
all  sorts  of  things.  I  think  the  most  ridiculous  sight 
in  the  world  is  a  man  on  a  bicycle,  working  away  with 
his  feet  as  hard  as  he  possibly  can,  and  believing  that 
his  horse  is  carrying  him  instead  of,  as  anyone  can  see, 
he  carrying  the  horse.  You  needn't  tell  me  that  it 
isn't  easier  to  walk  in  the  ordinary  way  than  to  drag 
a  great  dead  iron  thing  along  with  you.  It's  not  good 
sense." 

"  Nevertheless  I  can  carry  it  a  hundred  miles  fur- 
ther in  a  day  than  I  can  carry  myself  alone.  Such  are 
the  marvels  of  machinery.  But  I  know  that  we  cut 
a  very  poor  figure  beside  you  and  that  magnificent 
creature — ^not  tha  tanyone  will  look  at  me  whilst  you 
are  by  to  occupy  their  attention  so  much  more 
worthily." 

She  darted  a  glance  at  him  which  clouded  his  vision 

and  made  his  heart  beat  more  strongly.     This  was  an 

old  habit  of  hers.     She  kept  it  up  from  love  of  fun, 

having  no  idea  of  the  effect  it  produced  on  more  ar- 

205 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

dent  temperaments  than  her  own.  He  continued 
hastily: 

"  Is  Sir  Charles  within  doors?  " 

"  Oh,  it's  the  most  ridiculous  thing  I  ever  heard  of 
in  my  life,"  she  exclaimed.  "A  man  that  lives  by 
himself  in  a  place  down  by  the  Eiverside  Eoad  like  a 
toy  savings  bank — don't  you  know  the  things  I  mean? 
— called  Sallust's  House,  says  there  is  a  right  of  way 
through  our  new  pleasure  ground.  As  if  apyone 
could  have  any  right  there  after  all  the  money  we  have 
spent  fencing  it  on  three  sides,  and  building  up  the 
wall  by  the  road,  and  levelling,  and  planting,  and 
draining,  and  goodness  knows  what  else!  And  now 
the  man  says  that  all  the  common  people  and  tramps 
in  the  neighborhood  have  a  right  to  walk  across  it 
because  they  are  too  lazy  to  go  round  by  the  road.  Sir 
Charles  has  gone  to  see  the  man  about  it.  Of  course 
he  wouldn't  do  as  I  wanted  him." 

"What  was  that?" 

"Write  to  tell  the  man  to  mind  his  own  business, 
and  to  say  that  the  first  person  we  found  attempting 
to  trespass  on  our  property  should  be  given  to  the 
police." 

"  Then  I  shall  find  no  one  at  home.  I  beg  your 
pardon  for  calling  it  so,  but  it  is  the  only  place  like 
home  to  me." 

"  Yes;  it  is  so  comfortable  since  we  built  the  billiard 
room  and  took  away  those  nasty  hangings  in  the  hall. 
I  was  ever  so  long  trying  to  pers ^" 

She  was  interrupted  by  an  old  laborer,  who  hobbled 
206 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

up  as  fast  as  his  rheumatism  would  allow  him,  and 
began  to  speak  without  further  ceremony  than  snatch- 
ing off  his  cap. 

"  Th'ave  coom  to  the  noo  grouns,  my  lady,  crowds 
of  'em.  An'  a  parson  with  'em,  an'  a  flag  !  Sur 
Chorles  he  don't  know  what  to  say;  an'  sooch  doin's 
never  was." 

Lady  Brandon  turned  pale  and  pulled  at  her  horse 
as  if  to  back  him  out  of  some  danger.  Her  visitor, 
puzzled,  asked  the  old  man  what  he  meant. 

"  There's  goin'  to  be  a  proceyshon  through  the  noo 
grouns,"  he  replied,  ^'  an'  the  master  can't  stop  'em. 
Th'ave  throon  down  the  wall;  three  yards  of  it  is 
lyin'  on  Riverside  Road.  An'  there's  a  parson  with 
'em,  and  a  flag.  An'  him  that  lives  in  Sallust's  Hoos, 
he's  there,  hoddin'  'em  on." 

"Thrown  down  the  wall!"  exclaimed  Lady  Bran- 
don, scarlet  with  indignation  and  pale  with  apprehen- 
sion by  turns.  "  What  a  disgraceful  thing!  Where 
are  the  police?  Chester,  will  you  come  with  me  and 
see  what  they  are  doing?  Sir  Charles  is  no  use.  Do 
you  think  there  is  any  danger?  " 

"  There's  two  police,"  said  the  old  man,  "  an'  him 
that  lives  at  Sallust's  dar'd  them  stop  him.  They're 
lookin'  on.  An'  there's  a  parson  among  'em.  I  see 
him  pullin'  away  at  the  wall  with  his  own  ban's." 

"  I  will  go  and  see  the  fun,"  said  Chester. 

Lady  Brandon  hesitated.  But  her  anger  and  curi- 
osity vanquished  her  fears.  She  overtook  the  bicycle, 
and  they  went  together  through  the  gates  and  by  the 
307 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

highroad  to  the  scene  the  old  man  had  described. 
A  heap  of  bricks  and  mortar  lay  in  the  roadway  on 
each  side  of  a  breach  in  the  newly  built  wall,  over 
which  Lady  Brandon,  from  her  eminence  on  horse- 
back, could  see,  coming  towards  her  across  the  pleas- 
ure ground,  a  column  of  about  thirty  persons.  They 
marched  three  abreast  in  good  order  and  in  silence; 
the  expression  of  all  except  a  few  mirthful  faces  being 
that  of  devotees  fulfilling  a  rite.  The  gravity  of  the 
procession  was  deepened  by  the  appearance  of  a  clergy- 
man in  its  ranks,  which  were  composed  of  men  of  the 
middle  class,  and  a  few  workmen  carrying  a  banner 
inscribed  The  Soil  of  England  the  Birthkight  of 
ALL  HER  People.  There  were  also  four  women,  upon 
whom  Lady  Brandon  looked  with  intense  indignation 
and  contempt.  None  of  the  men  of  the  neighborhood 
had  dared  to  join;  they  stood  in  the  road  whispering, 
and  occasionally  venturing  to  laugh  at  the  jests  of  a 
couple  of  tramps  who  had  stopped  to  see  the  fun,  and 
who  cared  nothing  for  Sir  Charles. 

He,  standing  a  little  way  within  the  field,  was  re- 
monstrating angrily  with  a  man  of  his  own  class,  who 
stood  with  his  back  to  the  breach  and  his  hands  in  the 
pockets  of  his  snuff -colored  clothes,  contemplating  the 
procession  with  elate  satisfaction.  Lady  Brandon,  at 
once  suspecting  that  this  was  the  man  from  Sallust's 
House,  and  encouraged  by  the  loyalty  of  the  crowd, 
most  of  whom  made  way  for  her  and  touched  their 
hats,  hit  the  bay  horse  smartly  with  her  whip  and  rode 
him,  with  a  clatter  of  hoofs  and  scattering  of  clods, 
208 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

right  at  the  snuff-colored  enemy,  who  had  to  spring 
hastily  aside  to  avoid  her.  There  was  a  roar  of  laugh- 
ter from  the  roadway,  and  the  man  turned  sharply  on 
her.  But  he  suddenly  smiled  affably,  replaced  his 
hands  in  his  pockets  after  raising  his  hat,  and  said: 

"  How  do  you  do.  Miss  Carpenter?  I  thought  you 
were  a  charge  of  cavalry." 

"  I  am  not  Miss  Carpenter,  I  am  Lady  Brandon; 
and  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  Mr.  Smilash, 
if  it  is  you  that  have  brought  these  disgraceful  people 
here." 

His  eyes  as  he  replied  were  eloquent  with  reproach 
to  her  for  being  no  longer  Miss  Carpenter.  "  I  am 
not  Smilash,"  he  said;  "  I  am  Sidney  Trefusis.  I  have 
just  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  Sir  Charles  for  the 
first  time,  and  we  shall  be  the  best  friends  possible 
when  I  have  convinced  him  that  it  is  hardly  fair  to 
seize  on  a  path  belonging  to  the  people  and  compel 
them  to  walk  a  mile  and  a  half  round  his  estate  in- 
stead of  four  hundred  yards  between  two  portions  of 
it." 

"I  have  already  told  you,  sir,"  said  Sir  Charles, 
"that  I  intend  to  open  a  still  shorter  path,  and  to 
allow  all  the  well-conducted  work-people  to  pass 
through  twice  a  day.  This  will  enable  them  to  go  to 
their  work  and  return  from  it;  and  I  will  be  at  the 
cost  of  keeping  the  path  in  repair." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Trefusis  drily;  "  but  why  should 
we  trouble  you  when  we  have  a  path  of  our  own  to 
use  fifty  times  a  day  if  we  choose,  without  any  man 
14  209 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

barring  our  way  until  our  conduct  happens  to  please 
him?  Besides,  your  next  heir  would  probably  shut 
the  path  up  the  moment  he  came  into  possession." 

"  Offering  them  a  path  is  just  what  makes  them  im- 
pudent/' said  Lady  Brandon  to  her  husband.  "  Why 
did  you  promise  them  anything?  They  would  not 
think  it  a  hardship  to  walk  a  mile  and  a  half,  or  twenty 
miles,  to  a  public-house,  but  when  they  go  to  their 
work  they  think  it  dreadful  to  have  to  walk  a  yard. 
Perhaps  they  would  like  us  to  lend  them  the  wagon- 
ette to  drive  in?'' 

"  I  have  no  doubt  they  would,"  said  Trefusis,  beam- 
ing at  her. 

"  Pray  leave  me  to  manage  here,  Jane;  this  is  no 
place  for  you.  Bring  Erskine  to  the  house.  He  must 
be " 

"  Why  don't  the  police  make  them  go  away?  "  said 
Lady  Brandon,  too  excited  to  listen  to  her  husband. 

"  Hush,  Jane,  pray.  What  can  three  men  do 
against  thirty  or  forty?  " 

"  They  ought  to  take  up  somebody  as  an  example 
to  the  rest." 

"  They  have  offered,  in  the  handsomest  manner,  to 
arrest  me  if  Sir  Charles  will  give  me  in  charge,"  said 
Trefusis. 

"  There!  "  said  Lady  Jane,  turning  to  her  husband. 
"  Why  don't  you  give  him — or  someone — in  charge?  " 

"You  know  nothing  about  it,"  said  Sir  Charles, 
vexed  by  a  sense  that  she  was  publicly  making  him 
ridiculous. 

210 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"  If  you  don't,  I  will,"  she  persisted.  "  The  idea  of 
having  our  ground  broken  into  and  our  new  wall 
knocked  down!  A  nice  state  of  things  it  would  be 
if  people  were  allowed  to  do  as  they  liked  with  other 
peoples'  property.  I  will  give  every  one  of  them  in 
charge." 

"  Would  you  consign  me  to  a  dungeon?  "  said  Tre- 
fusis,  in  melancholy  tones. 

"I  don't  mean  you  exactly,"  she  said,  relenting. 
"  But  I  will  give  that  clergyman  into  charge,  because 
he  ought  to  know  better.  He  is  the  ringleader  of  the 
whole  thing." 

"  He  will  be  delighted.  Lady  Brandon;  he  pines  for 
martyrdom.  But  will  you  really  give  him  into  cus- 
tody?" 

"  I  will,"  she  said  vehemently,  emphasizing  the  as- 
surance by  a  plunge  in  the  saddle  that  made  the  bay 
stagger. 

"  On  what  charge?  "  he  said,  patting  the  horse  and 
looking  up  at  her. 

"  I  don't  care  what  charge,"  she  replied,  conscious 
that  she  was  being  admired,  and  not  displeased. 
"  Let  them  take  him  up,  that's  all." 

Human  beings  on  horseback  are  so  far  centaurs  that 
liberties  taken  with  their  horses  are  almost  as  personal 
as  liberties  taken  with  themselves.  When  Sir  Charles 
saw  Trefusis  patting  the  bay  he  felt  as  much  outraged 
as  if  Lady  Brandon  herself  were  being  r>atted,  and  he 
felt  bitterly  towards  her  for  permitting  the  familiarity. 
He  was  relieved  by  the  arrival  of  the  procession.  It 
211 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

halted  as  the  leaders  came  up  to  Trefusis,  who  said 
gravely: 

"  Gentlemen,  I  congratulate  you  on  the  firmness 
with  which  you  have  this  day  asserted  the  rights  of  the 
people  of  this  place  to  the  use  of  one  of  the  few  scraps 
of  mother  earth  of  which  they  have  not  been 
despoiled." 

'''  Gentlemen,"  shouted  an  excited  member  of  the 
procession,  "  three  cheers  for  the  resumption  of  the 
land  of  England  by  the  people  of  England!  Hip,  hip, 
hurrah!" 

The  cheers  were  given  with  much  spirit.  Sir 
Charles's  cheeks  becoming  redder  at  each  repetition. 
He  looked  angrily  at  the  clergyman,  now  distracted  by 
the  charms  of  Lady  Brandon,  whose  scorn,  as  she  sur- 
veyed the  crowd,  expressed  itself  by  a  pout  which  be- 
came her  pretty  lips  extremely. 

Then  a  middle-aged  laborer  stepped  from  the  road 
into  the  field,  hat  in  hand,  ducked  respectfully,  and 
said:  "Look  'e  here.  Sir  Charles.  Don't  'e  mind 
them  fellers.  There  ain't  a  man  belonging  to  this 
neighborhood  among  'em;  not  one  in  your  employ  or 
on  your  land.  Our  dooty  to  you  and  your  ladyship, 
and  we  will  trust  to  you  to  do  what  is  fair  by  us.  We 
want  no  interlopers  from  Lunnon  to  get  us  into 
trouble  with  your  honor,  and " 

"You  unmitigated  cur,"  exclaimed  Trefusis 
fiercely,  "what  right  have  you  to  give  away  to  his 
unborn  children  the  liberty  of  your  own  ?  " 

"  They're  not  unborn,"  said  Lady  Brandon  indig- 
313 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

nantly.  "  That  just  shows  how  little  you  know  about 
it." 

"  No,  nor  mine  either,"  said  the  man,  emboldened 
by  her  ladyship's  support.  "  And  who  are  you  that 
call  me  a  cur?  " 

"  Who  am  I!  I  am  a  rich  man — one  of  your  mas- 
ters, and  privileged  to  call  you  what  I  please.  You 
are  a  grovelling  famine-broken  slave.  Now  go  and 
seek  redress  against  me  from  the  law.  I  can  buy  law 
enough  to  ruin  you  for  less  money  than  it  would  cost 
me  to  shoot  deer  in  Scotland  or  vermin  here.  How 
do  you  like  that  state  of  things  ?     Eh  ?  " 

The  man  was  taken  aback.  "  Sir  Charles  will  stand 
by  me,"  he  said,  after  a  pause,  with  assumed  confi- 
dence, but  with  an  anxious  glance  at  the  baronet. 

"  If  he  does,  after  witnessing  the  return  you  have 
made  me  for  standing  by  you,  he  is  a  greater  fool  than 
I  take  him  to  be." 

"  Gently,  gently,"  said  the  clergyman.  "  There  is 
much  excuse  to  be  made  for  the  poor  fellow." 

"  As  gently  as  you  please  with  any  man  that  is  a 
free  man  at  heart,"  said  Trefusis;  "  but  slaves  must  be 
driven,  and  this  fellow  is  a  slave  to  the  marrow." 

"  Still,  we*  must  be  patient.  He  does  not 
know " 

"  He  knows  a  great  deal  better  than  you  do,"  said 
Lady  Brandon,  interrupting.  "  And  the  more  shame 
for  you,  because  you  ought  to  know  best.  I  suppose 
you  were  educated  somewhere.  You  will  not  be  satis- 
fied with  yourself  when  your  bishop  hears  of  this. 
213 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

Yes/'  she  added,  turning  to  Trefusis  with  an  infan- 
tile air  of  wanting  to  cry  and  being  forced  to  laugh 
against  her  will,  "you  may  laugh  as  much  as  you 
please — don't  trouble  to  pretend  it's  only  coughing — 
but  we  will  write  to  his  bishop,  as  he  shall  find  to  his 
cost." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  Jane,  for  God's  sake,"  said  Sir 
Charles,  taking  her  horse  by  the  bridle  and  backing 
him  from  Trefusis. 

"  I  will  not.  If  you  choose  to  stand  here  and  allow 
them  to  walk  away  with  the  walls  in  their  pockets,  I 
don't,  and  won't.  Why  cannot  you  make  the  police 
do  something?  " 

"  They  can  do  nothing,"  said  Sir  Charles,  almost 
beside  himself  with  humiliation.  "  I  cannot  do  any- 
thing until  I  see  my  solicitor.  How  can  you  bear  to 
stay  here  wrangling  with  these  fellows?  It  is  so  un- 
dignified! " 

"  It's  all  very  well  to  talk  of  dignity,  but  I  don't  see 
the  dignity  of  letting  people  trample  on  our  grounds 
without  leave.  Mr.  Smilash,  will  you  make  them  all 
go  away,  and  tell  them  that  they  shall  all  be  prose- 
cuted and  put  in  prison  ?  " 

"  They  are  going  to  the  crossroads,  to  hold  a  public 
meeting  and — of  course — make  speeches.  I  am  de- 
sired to  say  that  they  deeply  regret  that  their  demon' 
stration  should  have  disturbed  you  personally.  Lady 
Brandon." 

"  So  they  ought,"  she  replied.  "  They  don't  look 
very  sorry.  They  are  getting  frightened  at  what  they 
214 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

have  done,  and  they  would  be  glad  to  escape  the  con- 
sequences by  apologizing,  most  likely.  But  they 
shan't.     I  am  not  such  a  fool  as  they  think." 

"  They  don't  think  so.  You  have  proved  the  con- 
trary." 

^*  Jane,"  said  Sir  Charles  pettishly,  "  do  you  know 
this  gentleman?  " 

"  I  should  think  I  do,"  said  Lady  Brandon  emphati- 
cally. 

Trefusis  bowed  as  if  he  had  just  been  formally 
introduced  to  the  baronet,  who,  against  his  will, 
returned  the  salutation  stiffly,  unable  to  ignore 
an  older,  firmer,  and  quicker  man  under  the  circum- 
stances. 

"This  seems  an  unneighborly  business.  Sir  Charles," 
said  Trefusis,  quite  at  his  ease;  "  but  as  it  is  a  public 
question,  it  need  not  prejudice  our  private  relations. 
At  least  I  hope  not." 

Sir  Charles  bowed  again,  more  stiffly  than  before. 

"  I  am,  like  you,  a  capitalist  and  landlord " 

"  Which  it  seems  to  me  you  have  no  right  to  be,  if 
you  are  in  earnest,"  struck  in  Chester,  who  had  been 
watching  the  scene  in  silence  by  Sir  Charles's  side. 

"  Which,  as  you  say,  I  have  undoubtedly  no  right 
to  be,"  said  Trefusis,  surveying  him  with  interest; 
"  but  which  I  nevertheless  cannot  help  being.  Have 
I  the  pleasure  of  speaking  to  Mr.  Chichester  Erskine, 
author  of  a  tragedy  entitled  ^  The  Patriot  Martyrs,' 
dedicated  with  enthusiastic  devotion  to  the  Spirit  of 
Liberty  and  half  a  dozen  famous  upholders  of  that 

215 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

principle,  and  denouncing  in  forcible  language  the 
tyranny  of  the  late  Tsar  of  Russia,  Bomba  of  Naples, 
and  Napoleon  the  Third?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,^'  said  Erskine,  reddening;  for  he  felt  that 
this  description  might  make  his  drama  seem  ridicu- 
lous to  those  present  who  had  not  read  it. 

"  Then,"  said  Trefusis,  extending  his  hand — Ers- 
kine at  first  thought  for  a  hearty  shake — "give  mc 
half-a-crown  towards  the  cost  of  our  expedition  here 
to-day  to  assert  the  right  of  the  people  to  tread  the 
soil  we  are  standing  upon." 

"  You  shall  do  nothing  of  the  sort,  Chester,"  cried 
Lady  Brandon.  "  I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing  in 
my  life!  Do  you  pay  us  for  the  wall  and  fence  your 
people  have  broken,  Mr.  Smilash;  that  would  be  more 
to  the  purpose." 

"  If  I  could  find  a  thousand  men  as  practical  as  you. 
Lady  Brandon,  I  might  accomplish  the  next  great 
revolution  before  the  end  of  this  season."  He  looked 
at  her  for  a  moment  curiously,  as  if  trying  to  remem- 
ber; and  then  added  inconsequently:  "  How  are  your 
friends?  There  was  a  Miss — Miss — I  am  afraid  I 
have  forgotten  all  the  names  except  your  own." 

"  Gertrude  Lindsay  is  staying  with  us.  Do  you 
remember  her?  " 

"  I  think — no,  I  am  afraid  I  do  not.  Let  me  see. 
Was  she  a  haughty  young  lady?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Lady  Brandon  eagerly,  forgetting  the 
wall  and  fence.  "  But  who  do  you  think  is  coming 
next  Thursday?    I  met  her  accidentally  the  last  time 

216 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

I  was  in  town.     She's  not  a  bit  changed.     You  can't 
forget  her,  so  don't  pretend  to  be  puzzled." 

"  You  have  not  told  me  who  she  is  yet.  And  I  shall 
probably  not  remember  her.  You  must  not  expect  me 
to  recognize  everyone  instantaneously,  as  I  recognized 
you." 

^*  What  stuff!     You  will  know  Agatha  fast  enough." 

"  Agatha  Wylie!  "  he  said,  with  sudden  gravity. 

"Yes.  She  is  coming  on  Thursday.  Are  you 
glad?" 

"  I  fear  I  shall  have  no  opportunity  of  seeing  her." 

**  Oh,  of  course  you  must  see  her.  It  will  be  so 
jolly  for  us  all  to  meet  again  just  as  we  used.  Why 
can't  you  come  to  luncheon  on  Thursday?  " 

"  I  shall  be  delighted,  if  you  will  really  allow  me 
to  come  after  my  conduct  here." 

"  The  lawyers  will  settle  that.  Now  that  you  have 
found  out  who  we  are  you  will  stop  pulling  down  our 
walls,  of  course." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Trefusis,  smiling,  as  he  took  out 
a  pocket  diary  and  entered  the  engagement.  "  I  must 
hurry  away  to  the  crossroads.  They  have  probably 
voted  me  into  the  chair  by  this  time,  and  are  waiting 
for  me  to  open  their  meeting.  Good-bye.  You  have 
made  tliis  place,  which  I  was  growing  tired  of,  unex- 
pectedly interesting  to  me." 

They  exchanged  glances  of  the  old  college  pattern. 
Then  he  nodded  to  Sir  Charles,  waved  his  hand  fami- 
liarly to  Erskine,  and  followed  the  procession,  which 
was  by  this  time  out  of  sight. 
217 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

Sir  Charles,  who,  waiting  to  speak,  had  been  re- 
peatedly baffled  by  the  hasty  speeches  of  his  wife  and 
the  unhesitating  replies  of  Trefusis,  now  turned  an- 
grily upon  her,  saying: 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  inviting  that  fellow  to  my 
house  ?  " 

"  Your  house,  indeed!  I  will  invite  whom  I  please. 
You  are  getting  into  one  of  your  tempers." 

Sir  Charles  looked  about  him.  Erskine  had  dis- 
creetly slipped  away,  and  was  in  the  road,  tightening 
a  screw  in  his  bicycle.  The  few  persons  who  remained 
were  out  of  earshot. 

"Who  and  what  the  devil  is  he,  and  how  do  you 
come  to  know  him  ?  "  he  demanded.  He  never  swore 
in  the  presence  of  any  lady  except  his  wife,  and  then 
only  when  they  were  alone. 

"  He  is  a  gentleman,  which  is  more  than  you  are," 
she  retorted,  and,  with  a  cut  of  her  whip  that  narrowly 
missed  her  husband's  shoulder,  sent  the  bay  plunging 
through  the  gap. 

"  Come  along,"  she  said  to  Erskine.  "  We  shall  be 
late  for  luncheon." 

"  Had  we  not  better  wait  for  Sir  Charles?  "  he  asked 
injudiciously. 

"  Never  mind  Sir  Charles,  he  is  in  the  sulks,"  she 
said,  without  abating  her  voice.  "  Come  along."  And 
she  went  off  at  a  canter,  Erskine  following  her  with  a 
misgiving  that  his  visit  was  unfortunately  timed. 


218 


CHAPTER   XII 

On  the  following  Thursday  Gertrude,  Agatha,  and 
Jane  met  for  the  first  time  since  they  had  parted  at 
Alton  College.  Agatha  was  the  shyest  of  the  three, 
and  externally  the  least  changed.  She  fancied  her- 
self very  different  from  the  Agatha  of  Alton;  but  it 
was  her  opinion  of  herself  that  had  altered,  not  her 
person.  Expecting  to  find  a  corresponding  alteration 
in  her  friends,  she  had  looked  forward  to  the  meeting 
with  much  doubt  and  little  hope  of  its  proving 
pleasant. 

She  was  more  anxious  about  Gertrude  than  about 
Jane,  concerning  whom,  at  a  brief  interview  in  Lon- 
don, she  had  already  discovered  that  Lady  Brandon's 
manner,  mind,  and  speech  were  just  what  Miss  Car- 
penter's had  been.  But,  even  from  Agatha,  Jane 
commanded  more  respect  than  before,  having  changed 
from  an  overgrown  girl  into  a  fine  woman,  and  made 
a  brilliant  match  in  her  first  season,  whilst  many  of 
her  pretty,  proud,  and  clever  contemporaries,  whom 
she  had  envied  at  school,  were  still  unmarried,  and 
were  having  their  homes  made  uncomfortable  by 
parents  anxious  to  get  rid  of  the  burthen  of  support- 
ing them,  and  to  profit  in  purse  or  position  by  their 
marriages. 

di9 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

This  was  Gertrude's  case.  Like  Agatha,  she  had 
thrown  away  her  matrimonial  opportunities.  Proud 
of  her  rank  and  exclusiveness,  she  had  resolved  to 
have  as  little  as  possible  to  do  with  persons  who  did 
not  share  both  with  her.  She  began  by  repulsing  the 
proffered  acquaintance  of  many  families  of  great 
wealth  and  fashion,  who  either  did  not  know  their 
grandparents  or  were  ashamed  of  them.  Having  shut 
herself  out  of  their  circle,  she  was  presented  at  court, 
and  thenceforth  accepted  the  invitations  of  those  only 
who  had,  in  her  opinion,  a  right  to  the  same  honor. 
And  she  was  far  stricter  on  that  point  than  the  Lord 
Chamberlain,  who  had,  she  held,  betrayed  his  trust 
by  practically  turning  Leveller.  She  was  well  edu- 
cated, refined  in  her  manners  and  habits,  skilled  in 
etiquette  to  an  extent  irritating  to  the  ignorant,  and 
gifted  with  a  delicate  complexion,  pearly  teeth,  and  a 
face  that  would  have  been  Grecian  but  for  a  slight 
upward  tilt  of  the  nose  and  traces  of  a  square,  heavy 
type  in  the  jaw.  Her  father  was  a  retired  admiral, 
with  sufficient  influence  to  have  had  a  sinecure  made 
by  a  Conservative  government  expressly  for  the  main- 
tenance of  his  son  pending  alliance  with  some  heiress. 
Yet  Gertrude  remained  single,  and  the  admiral,  who 
had  formerly  spent  more  money  than  he  could  com- 
fortably afford  on  her  education,  and  was  still  doing 
so  upon  her  state  and  personal  adornment,  was  com- 
plaining so  unpleasantly  of  her  failure  to  get  taken 
off  his  hands,  that  she  could  hardly  bear  to  live  at 
home,  and  was  ready  to  marry  any  thoroughbred 

220 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

gentleman,  however  unsuitable  his  age  or  character, 
who  would  relieve  her  from  her  humiliating  depend- 
ence. She  was  prepared  to  sacrifice  her  natural  de- 
sire for  youth,  beauty,  and  virtue  in  a  husband  if  she 
could  escape  from  her  parents  on  no  easier  terms,  but 
she  was  resolved  to  die  an  old  maid  sooner  than  marry 
an  upstart. 

The  difficulty  in  her  way  was  pecuniary.  The  ad- 
miral was  poor.  He  had  not  quite  six  thousand  a 
year,  and  though  he  practised  the  utmost  economy  in 
order  to  keep  up  the  most  expensive  habits,  he  could 
not  afford  to  give  his  daughter  a  dowry.  Now  the 
well  born  bachelors  of  her  set,  having  more  blue  blood, 
but  much  less  wealth,  than  they  needed,  admired  her, 
paid  her  compliments,  danced  with  her,  but  could  not 
afford  to  marry  her.  Some  of  them  even  told  her  so, 
married  rich  daughters  of  tea  merchants,  iron  found- 
ers, or  successful  stockbrokers,  and  then  tried  to  make 
matches  between  her  and  their  lowly  born  brothers- 
in-law. 

So,  when  Gertrude  met  Lady  Brandon,  her  lot  was 
secretly  wretched,  and  she  was  glad  to  accept  an  invita- 
tion to  Brandon  Beeches  in  order  to  escape  for  a  while 
from  the  admiral's  daily  sarcasms  on  the  marriage  list 
in  the  "  Times."  The  invitation  was  the  more  accept- 
able because  Sir  Charles  was  no  mushroom  noble,  and, 
in  the  schooldays  which  Gertrude  now  remembered 
as  the  happiest  of  her  life,  she  had  acknowledged 
that  Jane's  family  and  connections  were  more  aristo- 
cratic than  those  of  any  other  student  then  at  Alton, 

m 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

herself  excepted.  To  Agatha,  whose  grandfather  had 
amassed  wealth  as  a  proprietor  of  gasworks  (novelties 
in  his  time),  she  had  never  offered  her  intimacy. 
Agatha  had  taken  it  by  force,  partly  moral,  partly 
physical.  But  the  gasworks  were  never  forgotten,  and 
when  Lady  Brandon  mentioned,  as  a  piece  of  delight- 
ful news,  that  she  had  found  out  their  old  school  com- 
panion, and  had  asked  her  to  join  them,  Gertrude  was 
not  quite  pleased.  Yet,  when  they  met,  her  eyes  were 
the  only  wet  ones  there,  for  she  was  the  least  happy  of 
the  three,  and,  though  she  did  not  know  it,  her  spirit 
was  somewhat  broken.  Agatha,  she  thought,  had  lost 
the  bloom  of  girlhood,  but  was  bolder,  stronger,  and 
cleverer  than  before.  Agatha  had,  in  fact,  summoned 
all  her  self-possession  to  hide  her  shyness.  She  de- 
tected the  emotion  of  Gertrude,  who  at  the  last  mo- 
ment did  not  try  to  conceal  it.  It  would  have  been 
poured  out  freely  in  words,  had  Gertrude's  social 
training  taught  her  to  express  her  feelings  as  well  as 
it  had  accustomed  her  to  dissemble  them. 

"Do  you  remember  Miss  Wilson?"  said  Jane,  as 
the  three  drove  from  the  railway  station  to  Brandon 
Beeches.  ^'  Do  you  remember  Mrs.  Miller  and  her 
cat?  Do  you  remember  the  Eecording  Angel?  Do 
you  remember  how  I  fell  into  the  canal  ?  " 

These  reminiscences  lasted  until  they  reached  the 
house  and  went  together  to  Agatha's  room.  Here 
Jane,  having  some  orders  to  give  in  the  household, 
had  to  leave  them — reluctantly;  for  she  was  jealous 
lest  Gertrude  should  get  the  start  of  her  in  the  re- 
^2% 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

newal  of  Agatha's  affection.  She  even  tried  to  take 
her  rival  away  with  her;  but  in  vain.  Gertrude  would 
not  budge. 

"  What  a  beautiful  house  and  splendid  place!  "  said 
Agatha  when  Jane  was  gone.  "  And  what  a  nice 
fellow  Sir  Charles  is!  We  used  to  laugh  at  Jane, 
but  she  can  afford  to  laugh  at  the  luckiest  of  us 
now.  I  always  said  she  would  blunder  into  the  best 
of  everything.  Is  it  true  that  she  married  in  her  first 
season?'' 

"  Yes.  And  Sir  Charles  is  a  man  of  great  culture. 
I  cannot  understand  it.  Her  size  is  really  beyond 
everything,  and  her  manners  are  bad." 

"  Hm!  "  said  Agatha  with  a  wise  air.  "  There  was 
always  something  about  Jane  that  attracted  men. 
And  she  is  more  knave  than  fool.  But  she  is  certainly 
a  great  ass." 

Gertrude  looked  serious,  to  imply  that  she  had 
grown  out  of  the  habit  of  using  or  listening  to  such 
language.     Agatha,  stimulated  by  this,  continued: 

"  Here  are  you  and  I,  who  consider  ourselves  twice 
as  presentable  and  conversable  as  she,  two  old  maids." 
Gertrude  winced,  and  Agatha  hastened  to  add:  "  Why, 
as  for  you,  you  are  perfectly  lovely!  And  she  has 
asked  us  down  expressly  to  marry  us." 

"  She  would  not  presume " 

"  Nonsense,  my  dear  Gertrude.     She  thinks  that 

we  are  a  couple  of  fools  who  have  mismanaged  our  own 

business,  and  that  she,  having  managed  so  well  for 

herself,  can  settle  us  in  a  jiffy.     Come,  did  she  not 

223 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

say  to  you,  before  I  came,  that  it  was  time  for  me  to 
be  getting  married?" 

"Well,  she  did.     But " 

"  She  said  exactly  the  same  thing  to  me  about  you 
when  she  invited  me." 

"  I  would  leave  her  house  this  moment/'  said  Ger- 
trude, "  if  I  thought  she  dared  meddle  in  my  affairs. 
What  is  it  to  her  whether  I  am  married  or  not?  " 

"  Where  have  you  been  living  all  these  years,  if  you 
do  not  know  that  the  very  first  thing  a  woman  wants 
to  do  when  she  has  made  a  good  match  is  to  make  ones 
for  all  her  spinster  friends.  Jane  does  not  mean  any 
harm.     She  does  it  out  of  pure  benevolence." 

"  I  do  not  need  Jane's  benevolence." 

"  Neither  do  I;  but  it  doesn't  do  any  harm,  and  she 
is  welcome  to  amuse  herself  by  trotting  out  her  male 
acquaintances  for  my  approval.  Hush!  Here  she 
comes." 

Gertrude  subsided.  She  could  not  quarrel  with 
Lady  Brandon  without  leaving  the  house,  and  she 
could  not  leave  the  house  without  returning  to  her 
home.  But  she  privately  resolved  to  discourage  the 
attentions  of  Erskine,  suspecting  that  instead  of  being 
in  love  with  her  as  he  pretended,  he  had  merely  been 
recommended  by  Jane  to  marry  her. 

Chichester  Erskine  had  made  sketches  in  Palestine 
with  Sir  Charles,  and  had  tramped  with  him  through 
many  European  picture  galleries.  He  was  a  young 
man  of  gentle  birth,  and  had  inherited  fifteen  hun- 
dred a  year  from  his  mother,  the  bulk  of  the  family 
224 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

property  being  his  elder  brother's.  Having  no  profes- 
sion, and  being  fond  of  books  and  pictures,  he  had 
devoted  himself  to  fine  art,  a  pursuit  which  offered 
him  on  the  cheapest  terms  a  high  opinion  of  the 
beauty  and  capacity  of  his  own  nature.  He  had  pub- 
lished a  tragedy  entitled,  "  The  Patriot  Martyrs,"  with 
an  etched  frontispiece  by  Sir  Charles,  and  an  edition 
of  it  had  been  speedily  disposed  of  in  presentations  to 
the  friends  of  the  artist  and  poet,  and  to  the  reviews 
and  newspapers.  Sir  Charles  had  asked  an  eminent 
tragedian  of  his  acquaintance  to  place  the  work  on 
the  stage  and  to  enact  one  of  the  patriot  martyrs.  But 
the  tragedian  had  objected  that  the  other  patriot  mar- 
tyrs had  parts  of  equal  importance  to  that  proposed 
for  him.  Erskine  had  indignantly  refused  to  cut 
these  parts  down  or  out,  and  so  the  project  had  fallen 
through. 

Since  then  Erskine  had  been  bent  on  writing  an- 
other drama,  without  regard  to  the  exigencies  of  the 
stage,  but  he  had  not  yet  begun  it,  in  consequence  of 
his  inspiration  coming  upon  him  at  inconvenient 
hours,  chiefly  late  at  night,  when  he  had  been  drink- 
ing, and  had  leisure  for  sonnets  only.  The  morning 
air  and  bicycle  riding  were  fatal  to  the  vein  in  which 
his  poetry  struck  him  as  being  worth  writing.  In 
spite  of  the  bicycle,  however,  the  drama,  which  was  to 
be  entitled  "  Hypatia/'  was  now  in  a  fair  way  to  be 
written,  for  the  poet  had  met  and  fallen  in  love  with 
Gertrude  Lindsay,  whose  almost  Grecian  features,  and 
some  knowledge  of  the  different  calculus  which  she 
15  225 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

had  acquired  at  Alton,  helped  him  to  believe  that  she 
was  a  fit  model  for  his  heroine. 

When  the  ladies  came  downstairs  they  found  their 
host  and  Erskine  in  the  picture  gallery,  famous  in  the 
neighborhood  for  the  sum  it  had  cost  Sir  Charles. 
There  was  a  new  etching  to  be  admired,  and  they  were 
called  on  to  observe  what  the  baronet  called  its  tones, 
and  what  Agatha  would  have  called  its  degrees  of 
smudginess.  Sir  Charles's  attention  often  wandered 
from  this  work  of  art.  He  looked  at  his  watch  twice, 
and  said  to  his  wife: 

"  I  have  ordered  them  to  be  punctual  with  the 
luncheon." 

"  Oh,  yes;  it's  all  right,"  said  Lady  Brandon,  who 
had  given  orders  that  luncheon  was  not  to  be  served 
until  the  arrival  of  another  gentleman.  "  Show 
Agatha  the  picture  of  the  man  in  the " 

"  Mr.  Trefusis,"  said  a  servant. 

Mr.  Trefusis,  still  in  snuff  color,  entered;  coat  un- 
buttoned and  attention  unconstrained;  exasperatingly 
unconscious  of  any  occasion  for  ceremony. 

"  Here  you  are  at  last,"  said  Lady  Brandon.  "  You 
know  everybody,  don't  you?  " 

"  How  do  you  do  ?  "  said  Sir  Charles,  offering  his 
hand  as  a  severe  expression  of  his  duty  to  his  wife's 
guest,  who  took  it  cordially,  nodded  to  Erskine,  looked 
without  recognition  at  Gertrude,  whose  frosty  stillness 
repudiated  Lady  Brandon's  implication  that  the 
stranger  was  acquainted  with  her,  and  turned  to 
Agatha^  to  whom  he  bowed.     She  made  no  sign;  she 

226 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

was  paralyzed.  Lady  Brandon  reddened  with  anger. 
Sir  Charles  noted  his  guest's  reception  with  secret 
satisfaction,  but  shared  the  embarrassment  which  op- 
pressed all  present  except  Trefusis,  who  seemed  quite 
indifferent  and  assured,  and  unconsciously  produced 
an  impression  that  the  others  had  not  been  equal  to 
the  occasion,  as  indeed  they  had  not. 

"  We  were  looking  at  some  etchings  when  you  came 
in,"  said  Sir  Charles,  hastening  to  break  the  silence. 
"  Do  you  care  for  such  things?  "  And  he  handed  him 
a  proof. 

Trefusis  looked  at  it  as  if  he  had  never  seen  such  a 
thing  before  and  did  not  quite  know  what  to  make  of 
it.  "  All  these  scratches  seem  to  me  to  have  no  mean- 
ing," he  said  dubiously. 

Sir  Charles  stole  a  contemptuous  smile  and  signifi- 
cant glance  at  Erskine.  He,  seized  already  with  an 
instinctive  antipathy  to  Trefusis,  said  emphatically: 

"  There  is  not  one  of  those  scratches  that  has  not  a 
meaning." 

"  That  one,  for  instance,  like  the  limb  of  a  daddy- 
long-legs.     What  does  that  mean?  " 

Erskine  hesitated  a  moment;  recovered  himself;  and 
said:  "  Obviously  enough — to  me  at  least — it  indicates 
the  marking  of  the  roadway." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  said  Trefusis.  "  There  never  was 
such  a  mark  as  that  on  a  road.  It  may  be  a  very  bad 
attempt  at  a  briar,  but  briars  don't  straggle  into  the 
middle  of  roads  frequented  as  that  one  seems  to  be — 
judging  by  those  overdone  ruts."  He  put  the  etching 
227 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

away,  showing  no  disposition  to  look  further  into  the 
portfolio,  and  remarked,  "  The  only  art  that  interests 
me  is  photography." 

Erskine  and  Sir  Charles  again  exchanged  glances, 
and  the  former  said: 

"  Photography  is  not  an  art  in  the  sense  in  which  I 
understand  the  term.     It  is  a  process." 

"And  a  much  less  troublesome  and  more  perfect 
process  than  that,"  said  Tref  usis,  pointing  to  the  etch- 
ing.    "  The  artists  are  sticking  to  the  old  barbarous, 
difficult,  and  imperfect  processes  of  etching  and  por- 
trait painting  merely  to  keep  up  the  value  of  their 
monopoly  of  the  required  skill.     They  have  left  the 
new,  more  complexly  organized,  and  more  perfect, 
yet  simple  and  beautiful  method  of  photography  in 
the  hands  of  tradesmen,  sneering  at  it  publicly  an.1 
resorting  to   its  aid  surreptitiously.     The  result   ic^ 
that  the  tradesmen  are  becoming  better  artists  than 
they,  and  naturally  so;  for  where,  as  in  photography, 
the  drawing  counts  for  nothing,  the  thought  and 
judgment  count  for  everything;  whereas  in  the  etch- 
ing and  daubing  processes,  where  great  manual  skill 
is  needed  to  produce  anything  that  the  eye  can  en- 
dure, the  execution  counts  for  more  than  the  thought, 
5    and  if  a  fellow  only  fit  to  carry  bricks  up  a  ladder 
I    or  the  like  has  ambition  and  perseverance  enough 
1   to  train  his  hand  and  push  into  the  van,  you  can- 
i  not  afford  to  put  him  back  into  his  proper  place, 
\  because  thoroughly  trained  hands  are  so  scarce.     Con- 
sider the  proof  of  this  that  you  have  in  literature. 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

Our  books  are  manually  the  work  of  printers  and 
papermakers;  you  may  cut  an  author's  hand  off  and 
he  is  as  good  an  author  as  before.  What  is  the  result? 
There  is  more  imagination  in  any  number  of  a  penny 
journal  than  in  half-a-dozen  of  the  Eoyal  Academy 
rooms  in  the  season.  No  author  can  live  by  his  work 
and  be  as  empty-headed  as  an  average  successful 
painter.  Again,  consider  our  implements  of  music — 
our  pianofortes,  for  example.  Nobody  but  an  acrobat 
will  voluntarily  spend  years  at  such  a  difficult  mechan- 
ical puzzle  as  the  keyboard,  and  so  we  have  to  take  our 
impressions  of  Beethoven's  sonatas  from  acrobats  who 
vie  with  each  other  in  the  rapidity  of  their  prestos,  or 
the  staying  power  of  their  left  wrists.  Thoughtful 
men  will  not  spend  their  lives  acquiring  sleight-of- 
hand.  Invent  a  piano  which  will  respond  as  deli- 
cately to  the  turning  of  a  handle  as  our  present  ones 
do  to  the  pressure  of  the  fingers,  and  the  acrobats  will 
be  driven  back  to  their  carpets  and  trapezes,  because 
the  sole  faculty  necessary  to  the  executant  musician 
will  be  the  musical  faculty,  and  no  other  will  enable 
him  to  obtain  a  hearing." 

The  company  were  somewhat  overcome  by  this  un- 
expected lecture.  Sir  Charles,  feeling  that  such  views 
bore  adversely  on  him,  and  were  somehow  iconoclas- 
tic and  lowlived,  was  about  to  make  a  peevish  retort, 
when  Erskine  forestalled  him  by  asking  Trefusis  what 
idea  he  had  formed  of  the  future  of  the  arts.  He 
replied  promptly: 

"  Photography  perfected  in  its  recently  discovered 
229 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

power  of  reproducing  color  as  well  as  form!  Histori- 
cal pictures  replaced  by  photographs  of  tableaux 
vivants  formed  and  arranged  by  trained  actors  and 
artists,  and  used  chiefly  for  the  instruction  of  chil- 
dren. Xine-tenths  of  painting  as  we  understand  it 
at  present  extinguished  by  the  competition  of  these 
photographs,  and  the  remaining  tenth  only  holding 
its  own  against  them  by  dint  of  extraordinary  excel- 
lence! Our  mistuned  and  unplayable  organs  and 
pianofortes  replaced  by  harmonious  instruments,  as 
manageable  as  barrel  organs!  Works  of  fiction  super- 
seded by  interesting  company  and  conversation,  and 
made  obsolete  by  the  human  mind  outgrowing  the 
childishness  that  delights  in  the  tales  told  by  grown- 
up children  such  as  novelists  and  their  like!  An  end 
to  the  silly  confusion,  under  the  one  name  of  Art,  of 
the  tomfoolery  and  make-believe  of  our  playhours 
with  the  higher  methods  of  teaching  men  to  know 
themselves!  Every  artist  an  amateur,  and  a  conse- 
quent return  to  the  healthy  old  disposition  to  look  on 
every  man  who  makes  art  a  means  of  money-getting 
as  a  vagabond  not  to  be  entertained  as  an  equal  by 
honest  men! " 

"  In  which  case  artists  will  starve,  and  there  will  be 
no  more  art." 

"  Sir,"  said  Trefusis,  excited  by  the  word,  "  I,  as  a 
Socialist,  can  tell  you  that  starvation  is  now  impos- 
sible, except  where,  as  in  England,  masterless  men  are 
forcibly  prevented  from  producing  the  food  they  need. 
And  you,  as  an  artist,  can  tell  me  that  at  present  great 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

artists  invariably  do  starve,  except  when  they  are  kept 
alive  by  charity,  private  fortune,  or  some  drudgery 
which  hinders  them  in  the  pursuit  of  their  vocation." 

"  Oh!  "  said  Erskine.  "  Then  Socialists  have  some 
little  sympathy  with  artists  after  all." 

"I  fear,"  said  Trefusis,  repressing  himself  and 
speaking  quietly  again,  "  that  when  a  Socialist  hears 
of  a  hundred  pounds  paid  for  a  drawing  which  Andrea 
del  Sarto  was  glad  to  sell  for  tenpence,  his  heart  is  not 
wrung  with  pity  for  the  artist's  imaginary  loss  as  that 
of  a  modern  capitalist  is.  Yet  that  is  the  only  way 
nowadays  of  enlisting  sympathy  for  the  old  masters. 
Frightful  disability,  to  be  out  of  the  reach  of  the  dear- 
est market  when  you  want  to  sell  your  drawings! 
But,"  he  added,  giving  himself  a  shake,  and  turning 
round  gaily,  "  I  did  not  come  here  to  talk  shop.  So 
— pending  the  deluge — let  us  enjoy  ourselves  after 
our  manner." 

"  No,"  said  Jane.  "  Please  go  on  about  Art.  It's 
such  a  relief  to  hear  anyone  talking  sensibly  about  it. 
I  hate  etching.  It  makes  your  eyes  sore — at  least 
the  acid  gets  into  Sir  Charles's,  and  the  difference 
between  the  first  and  second  states  is  nothing  but 
imagination,  except  that  the  last  state  is  worse  than 
the — here's  luncheon!  " 

They  went  downstairs  then.  Trefusis  sat  between 
Agatha  and  Lady  Brandon,  to  whom  he  addressed  all 
his  conversation.  They  chatted  without  much  inter- 
ruption from  the  business  of  the  table;  for  Jane,  de- 
spite her  amplitude,  had  a  small  appetite,  and  was 
231 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

fearful  of  growing  fat;  whilst  Trefusis  was  system- 
atically abstemious.  Sir  Charles  was  unusually  silent. 
He  was  afraid  to  talk  about  art,  lest  he  should  be 
contradicted  by  Trefusis,  who,  he  already  felt,  cared 
less  and  perhaps  knew  more  about  it  than  he.  Having 
previously  commented  to  Agatha  on  the  beauty  of  the 
ripening  spring,  and  inquired  whether  her  journey 
had  fatigued  her,  he  had  said  as  much  as  he  could 
think  of  at  a  first  meeting.  For  her  part,  she  was 
intent  on  Trefusis,  who,  though  he  must  know,  she 
thought,  that  they  were  all  hostile  to  him  except  Jane, 
seemed  as  confident  now  as  when  he  had  befooled  her 
long  ago.  That  thought  set  her  teeth  on  edge.  She 
did  not  doubt  the  sincerity  of  her  antipathy  to  him 
even  when  she  detected  herself  in  the  act  of  protest- 
ing inwardly  that  she  was  not  glad  to  meet  him  again, 
and  that  she  would  not  speak  to  him.  Gertrude, 
meanwhile,  was  giving  short  answers  to  Erskine  and 
listening  to  Trefusis.  She  had  gathered  from  the 
domestic  squabbles  of  the  last  few  days  that  Lady 
Brandon,  against  her  husband's  will,  had  invited  a 
notorious  demagogue,  the  rich  son  of  a  successful 
cotton-spinner,  to  visit  the  Beeches.  She  had  made 
up  her  mind  to  snub  any  such  man.  But  on  recog- 
nizing the  long-forgotten  Smilash,  she  had  been  aston- 
ished, and  had  not  known  what  to  do.  So,  to  avoid 
doing  anything  improper,  she  had  stood  stiffly  silent 
and  done  nothing,  as  the  custom  of  English  ladies  in 
such  cases  is.  Subsequently,  his  unconscious  self- 
assertion  had  wrought  with  her  as  with  the  others,  and 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

her  intention  of  snubbing  him  had  faded  into  the 
limbo  of  projects  abandoned  without  trial.  Erskine 
alone  was  free  from  the  influence  of  the  intruder.  He 
wished  himself  elsewhere;  but  beside  Gertrude  the 
presence  or  absence  of  any  other  person  troubled  him 
very  little. 

"  How  are  the  Janseniuses?  "  said  Trefusis,  sud- 
denly turning  to  Agatha. 

"  They  are  quite  well,  thank  you/'  she  said  in  meas- 
ured tones. 

"  I  met  John  Jansenius  in  the  city  lately.  You 
know  Jansenius?  "  he  added  parenthetically  to  Sir 
Charles.  "  Cotman's  bank — the  last  Cotman  died 
out  of  the  firm  before  we  were  born.  The  Chairman 
of  the  Transcanadian  Railway  Company." 

"  I  know  the  name.     I  am  seldom  in  the  city." 

"  Naturally,"  assented  Trefusis;  "  for  who  would 
sadden  himself  by  pushing  his  way  through  a  crowd 
of  such  slaves,  if  he  could  help  it?  I  mean  slaves  of 
Mammon,  of  course.  To  run  the  gauntlet  of  their 
faces  in  Cornhill  is  enough  to  discourage  a  thoughtful 
man  for  hours.  Well,  Jansenius,  being  high  in  the 
court  of  Mammon,  is  looking  out  for  a  good  post  in 
the  household  for  his  son.  Jansenius,  by-the-bye  is 
Miss  Wylie's  guardian  and  the  father  of  my  late  wife." 

Agatha  felt  inclined  to  deny  this;  but,  as  it  was 
true,  she  had  to  forbear.  Resolved  to  show  that  the 
relations  between  her  family  and  Trefusis  were  not 
cordial  ones,  she  asked  deliberately,  "  Did  Mr.  Jan- 
senius speak  to  you?  " 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

Gertrude  looked  up,  as  if  she  thought  this  scarcely 
ladylike. 

"Yes/'  said  Trefusis.  "We  are  the  best  friends 
in  the  world — as  good  as  possible,  at  any  rate.  He 
wanted  me  to  subscribe  to  a  fund  for  relieving  the 
poor  at  the  east  end  of  London  by  assisting  them  to 
emigrate." 

"  I  presume  you  subscribed  liberally/'  said  Erskine. 
"  It  was  an  opportunity  of  doing  some  practical  good." 

"  I  did  not/'  said  Trefusis,  grinning  at  the  sarcasm. 
"  This  Transcanadian  Railway  Company,  having  got 
a  great  deal  of  spare  land  from  the  Canadian  govern- 
ment for  nothing,  thought  it  would  be  a  good  idea  to 
settle  British  workmen  on  it  and  screw  rent  out  of 
them.  Plenty  of  British  workmen,  supplanted  in  their 
employment  by  machinery,  or  cheap  foreign  labor,  or 
one  thing  or  another,  were  quite  willing  to  go;  but  as 
they  couldn't  afford  to  pay  their  passages  to  Canada, 
the  Company  appealed  to  the  benevolent  to  pay  for 
them  by  subscription,  as  the  change  would  improve 
their  miserable  condition.  I  did  not  see  why  I  should 
pay  to  provide  a  rich  company  with  tenant  farmers, 
and  I  told  Jansenius  so.  He  remarked  that  when 
money  and  not  talk  was  required,  the  workmen 
of  England  soon  found  out  who  were  their  real 
friends." 

"  I  know  nothing  about  these  questions,"  said  Sir 
Charles,  with  an  air  of  conclusiveness;  "  but  I  see  no 
objection  to  emigration." 

"  The  fact  is,"  said  Trefusis,  "  the  idea  of  emigra- 
284 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

tion  is  a  dangerous  one  for  us.  Familiarize  the  work- 
man with  it,  and  some  day  he  may  come  to  see  what 
a  capital  thing  it  would  be  to  pack  off  me,  and  you, 
with  the  peerage,  and  the  whole  tribe  of  unprofitable 
proprietors  such  as  we  are,  to  St.  Helena;  making  us 
a  handsome  present  of  the  island  by  way  of  indemnity! 
We  are  such  a  restless,  unhappy  lot,  that  I  doubt 
whether  it  would  not  prove  a  good  thing  for  us  too. 
The  workmen  would  lose  nothing  but  the  contempla- 
tion of  our  elegant  persons,  exquisite  manners,  and 
refined  tastes.  They  might  provide  against  that  loss 
by  picking  out  a  few  of  us  to  keep  for  ornament's  sake. 
No  nation  with  a  sense  of  beauty  would  banish  Lady 
Brandon,  or  Miss  Lindsay,  or  Miss  Wylie." 

"  Such  nonsense!  "  said  Jane. 

"  You  would  hardly  believe  how  much  I  have  spent 
in  sending  workmen  out  of  the  country  against  my 
own  view  of  the  country's  interest,"  continued  Tre- 
fusis,  addressing  Erskine.  "  When  I  make  a  convert 
among  the  working  classes,  the  first  thing  he  does  is 
to  make  a  speech  somewhere  declaring  his  new  con- 
victions. His  employer  immediately  discharges  him 
— '  gives  him  the  sack  '  is  the  technical  phrase.  The 
sack  is  the  sword  of  the  capitalist,  and  hunger  keeps 
it  sharp  for  him.  His  shield  is  the  law,  made  for  the 
purpose  by  his  own  class.  Thus  equipped,  he  gives 
the  worst  of  it  to  my  poor  convert,  who  comes  ruined 
to  me  for  assistance.  As  I  cannot  afford  to  pension 
him  for  life,  I  get  rid  of  him  by  assisting  him  to  emi- 
grate. Sometimes  he  prospers  and  repays  me;  some- 
285 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

times  I  hear  no  more  of  him;  sometimes  he  comes 
back  with  his  habits  unsettled.  One  man  whom  I 
sent  to  America  made  his  fortune,  but  he  was  not  a 
social  democrat;  he  was  a  clerk  who  had  embezzled, 
and  who  applied  to  me  for  assistance  under  the  im- 
pression that  I  considered  it  rather  meritorious  to  rob 
the  till  of  a  capitalist." 

"  He  was  a  practical  Socialist,  in  fact,"  said 
Erskine. 

"  On  the  contrary,  he  was  a  somewhat  too  grasping 
Individualist. .  Howbeit,  I  enabled  him  to  make  good 
his  defalcation — in  the  city  they  consider  a  defalca- 
tion made  good  when  the  money  is  replaced — and  to 
go  to  New  York.  I  recommended  him  not  to  go 
there;  but  he  knew  better  than  I,  for  he  made  a  for- 
tune by  speculating  with  money  that  existed  only  in 
the  imagination  of  those  with  whom  he  dealt.  He 
never  repaid  me;  he  is  probably  far  too  good  a  man 
of  business  to  pay  money  that  cannot  be  extracted 
from  him  by  an  appeal  to  the  law  or  to  his  com- 
mercial credit.  Mr.  Erskine,"  added  Trefusis,  low- 
ering his  voice,  and  turning  to  the  poet,  "  you  are 
wrong  to  take  part  with  hucksters  and  money-hunters 
against  your  own  nature,  even  though  the  attack 
upon  them  is  led  by  a  man  who  prefers  photography 
to  etching." 

"  But  I  assure  you —    You  quite  mistake  me,"  said 

Erskine,  taken  aback.     '^  I "     He  stopped,  looked 

to  Sir  Charles  for  support,  and  then  said  airily:  "  I 
don't  doubt  that  you  are  quite  right.     I  hate  business 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

and  men  of  business;  and  as  to  social  questions,  I  have 
only  one  article  of  belief,  which  is,  that  the  sole  refiner 
of  human  nature  is  fine  art." 

"  Whereas  I  believe  that  the  sole  refiner  of  art  is 
human  nature.  Art  rises  when  men  rise,  and  grovels 
when  men  grovel.     What  is  your  opinion?  " 

"  I  agree  with  you  in  many  ways,"  replied  Sir 
Charles  nervously;  for  a  lack  of  interest  in  his  fellow- 
creatures,  and  an  excess  of  interest  in  himself,  had 
prevented  him  from  obtaining  that  power  of  dealing 
with  social  questions  which,  he  felt,  a  baronet  ought  to 
possess,  and  he  was  consequently  afraid  to  differ  from 
anyone  who  alluded  to  them  with  confidence.  "If 
you  take  an  interest  in  art,  I  believe  I  can  show  you 
a  few  things  worth  seeing." 

"  Thank  you.  In  return  I  will  some  day  show  you 
a  remarkable  collection  of  photographs  I  possess  ; 
many  of  them  taken  by  me.  I  venture  to  think  they 
will  teach  you  something." 

"  No  doubt,"  said  Sir  Charles.  "  Shall  we  return 
to  the  gallery?  I  have  a  few  treasures  there  that 
photography  is  not  likely  to  surpass  for  some  time 

yet." 

"  Let's  go  through  the  conservatory,"  said  Jane. 

"  Don't  you  like  flowers,  Mr.  Smi I  never  can 

remember  your  proper  name." 

"  Extremely,"  said  Trefusis. 

They  rose  and  went  out  into  a  long  hothouse.  Here 
Lady  Brandon,  finding  Erskine  at  her  side,  and  Sir 
Charles  before  her  with  Gertrude,  looked  round  for 
337 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

Trefusis,  with  whom  she  intended  to  enjoy  a  trifling 
flirtation  under  cover  of  showing  him  the  flowers.  He 
was  out  of  sight;  but  she  heard  his  footsteps  in  the 
passage  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  greenhouse. 
Agatha  was  also  invisible.  Jane,  not  daring  to  re- 
arrange their  procession  lest  her  design  should  be- 
come obvious,  had  to  walk  on  with  Erskine. 

Agatha  had  turned  unintentionally  into  the  oppo- 
site alley  to  that  which  the  others  had  chosen.  When 
she  saw  what  she  had  done,  and  found  herself  virtu- 
ally alone  with  Trefusis,  who  had  followed  her,  she 
blamed  him  for  it,  and  was  about  to  retrace  her  steps 
when  he  said  coolly: 

"  Were  you  shocked  when  you  heard  of  Henrietta's 
sudden  death?  " 

Agatha  struggled  with  herself  for  a  moment,  and 
then  said  in  a  suppressed  voice:  "  How  dare  you  speak 
tome?" 

"Why  not?"  said  he,  astonished. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  enter  into  a  discussion  with  you. 
You  know  what  I  mean  very  well." 

"  You  mean  that  you  are  offended  with  me;  that 
is  plain  enough.  But  when  I  part  with  a  young  lady 
on  good  terms,  and  after  a  lapse  of  years,  during  which 
we  neither  meet  nor  correspond,  she  asks  me  how  I 
dare  speak  to  her,  I  am  naturally  startled." 

"  We  did  not  part  on  good  terms." 

Trefusis  stretched  his  eyebrows,  as  if  to  stretch  his 
memory.  "If  not,"  he  said,  "I  have  forgotten  it, 
on  my  honor.     When  did  we  part,  and  what  hap- 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

pened?  It  cannot  have  been  anything  very  serious, 
or  I  should  remember  it." 

His  forgetfulness  wounded  Agatha.  "  No  doubt 
you  are  well  accustomed  to "  She  checked  her- 
self, and  made  a  successful  snatch  at  her  normal  man- 
ner with  gentlemen.  "  I  scarcely  remember  what  it 
was,  now  that  I  begin  to  think.  Some  trifle,  I  sup- 
pose.    Do  you  like  orchids?  " 

"  They  have  nothing  to  do  with  our  affairs  at  pres- 
ent. You  are  not  in  earnest  about  the  orchids,  and 
you  are  trying  to  run  away  from  a  mistake  instead  of 
clearing  it  up.    That  is  a  short-sighted  policy,  always." 

Agatha  grew  alarmed,  for  she  felt  his  old  influence 
over  her  returning.  "  I  do  not  wish  to  speak  of  it," 
she  said  firmly. 

Her  firmness  was  lost  on  him.  "  I  do  not  even  know 
what  it  means  yet,"  he  said,  "  and  I  want  to  know, 
for  I  believe  there  is  some  misunderstanding  between 
us,  and  it  is  the  trick  of  your  sex  to  perpetuate  mis- 
understandings by  forbidding  all  allusions  to  them. 
Perhaps,  leaving  Lyvern  so  hastily,  I  forgot  to  fulfil 
some  promise,  or  to  say  farewell,  or  something  of  that 
sort.  But  do  you  know  how  suddenly  I  was  called 
away?  I  got  a  telegram  to  say  that  Henrietta  was 
dying,  and  I  had  only  time  to  change  my  clothes — you 
remember  my  disguise — and  catch  the  express.  And, 
after  all,  she  was  dead  when  I  arrived." 

"I  know  that,"  said  Agatha  uneasily.  ''Please 
say  no  more  about  it." 

''Not  if  it  distresses  you.  Just  let  me  hope  that 
239 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

you  did  not  suppose  I  blamed  you  for  your  share  in 
the  matter  or  that  I  told  the  Janseniuses  of  it.  I  did 
not.  Yes,  I  like  orchids.  A  plant  that  can  subsist 
on  a  scrap  of  board  is  an  instance  of  natural  econ " 

''You  blame  me!''  cried  Agatha.  "/  never  told 
the  Janseniuses.  What  would  they  have  thought  of 
you  if  I  had?" 

"  Far  worse  of  you  than  of  me,  however  unjustly. 
You  were  the  immediate  cause  of  the  tragedy;  I  only 
the  remote  one.  Jansenius  is  not  far-seeing  when 
his  feelings  are  touched.     Few  men  are." 

"  I  don't  understand  you  in  the  least.  What  trag- 
edy do  you  mean?  " 

"  Henrietta's  death.  I  call  it  a  tragedy  convention- 
ally. Seriously,  of  course,  it  was  commonplace 
enough." 

Agatha  stopped  and  faced  him.  "What  do  you 
mean  by  what  you  said  just  now?  You  said  that  I 
was  the  immediate  cause  of  the  tragedy,  and  you  say 
that  you  were  talking  of  Henrietta's — of  Henrietta. 
I  had  nothing  to  do  with  her  illness." 

Trefusis  looked  at  her  as  if  considering  whether  he 
would  go  any  further.  Then,  watching  her  with  the 
curiosity  of  a  vivisector,  he  said:  "  Strange  to  say, 
Agatha  "  (she  shrank  proudly  at  the  word),  "  Henri- 
etta might  have  been  alive  now  but  for  you.  I  am 
very  glad  she  is  not;  so  you  need  not  reproach  your- 
self on  my  account.  She  died  of  a  journey  she  made 
to  Lyvern  in  great  excitement  and  distress,  and  in 
intensely  cold  weather.  You  caused  her  to  make  that 
240 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

journey  by  writing  her  a  letter  which  made  her 
jealous." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  accuse  me " 

"  No;  stop! "  he  said  hastily,  the  vivisecting  spirit 
in  him  exorcised  by  her  shaking  voice;  "  I  accuse  you 
of  nothing.  Why  do  you  not  speak  honestly  to  me 
when  you  are  at  your  ease?  If  you  confess  your  real 
thoughts  only  under  torture,  who  can  resist  the  temp- 
tation to  torture  you?  One  must  charge  you  with 
homicide  to  make  you  speak  of  anything  but  orchids." 

But  Agatha  had  drawn  the  new  inference  from  the 
old  facts,  and  would  not  be  talked  out  of  repudiating 
it.  "  It  was  not  my  fault,"  she  said.  "  It  was  yours 
— altogether  yours." 

*'  Altogether,"  he  assented,  relieved  to  find  her  in- 
dignant instead  of  remorseful. 

She  was  not  to  be  soothed  by  a  verbal  acquiescence. 
"  Your  behavior  was  most  unmanly,  and  I  told  you 
so,  and  you  could  not  deny  it.     You  pretended  that 

you You  pretended  to  have  feelings You 

tried  to  make  me  believe  that Oh,  I  am  a  fool 

to  talk  to  you;  you  know  perfectly  well  what  I  mean." 

"  Perfectly.  I  tried  to  make  you  believe  that  I  was 
in  love  with  you.     How  do  you  know  I  was  not?  " 

She  disdained  to  answer;  but  as  he  waited  calmly 
she  said,  "  You  had  no  right  to  be." 

"That  does  not  prove  that  I  was  not.      Come, 

Agatha,  you  pretended  to  like  me  when  you  did  not 

care  two  straws  about  me.     You  confessed  as  much 

in  that  fatal  letter,  which  I  have  somewhere  at  home. 

16  241 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

It  has  a  great  rent  right  across  it,  and  the  mark  of 
her  heel;  she  must  have  stamped  on  it  in  her  rage, 
poor  girl!  So  that  I  can  show  your  own  hand  for  the 
very  deception  you  accused  me — without  proof — of 
having  practised  on  you." 

"  You  are  clever,  and  can  twist  things.  What 
pleasure  does  it  give  you  to  make  me  miserable?  " 

"  Ha!  "  he  exclaimed,  in  an  abrupt,  sardonic  laugh. 
"  I  donH  know;  you  bewitch  me,  I  think." 

Agatha  made  no  reply,  but  walked  on  quickly  to 
the  end  of  the  conservatory,  where  the  others  were 
waiting  for  them. 

"  Where  have  you  been,  and  what  have  you  been 
doing  all  this  time?  "  said  Jane,  as  Trefusis  came  up, 
hurrying  after  Agatha.  "  I  don't  know  what  you  call 
it,  but  I  call  it  perfectly  disgraceful! " 

Sir  Charles  reddened  at  his  wife's  bad  taste,  and 
Trefusis  replied  gravely:  "  We  have  been  admiring 
the  orchids,  and  talking  about  them.  Miss  Wylie 
takes  an  interest  in  them." 


242 


CHAPTER   XIII 

One  morning  Gertrude  got  a  letter  from  her  father: 

"If 2/  Dear  Gerty:  I  have  just  received  a  bill  for 
£110  from  Madame  Smith  for  your  dresses.  May  I 
ask  you  how  long  this  sort  of  thing  is  to  go  on?  I 
need  not  tell  you  that  I  have  not  the  means  to  support 
you  in  such  extravagance.  I  am,  as  you  know,  always 
anxious  that  you  should  go  about  in  a  style  worthy 
of  your  position,  but  unless  you  can  manage  without 
calling  on  me  to  pay  away  hundreds  of  pounds  every 
season  to  Madame  Smith,  you  had  better  give  up  so- 
ciety and  stay  at  home.  I  positively  cannot  afford  it. 
As  far  as  I  can  see,  going  into  society  has  not  done 
you  much  good.  I  had  to  raise  £500  last  month  on 
Franklands;  and  it  is  too  bad  if  I  must  raise  more  to 
pay  your  dressmaker.  You  might  at  least  employ 
some  civil  person,  or  one  whose  charges  are  moderate. 
Madame  Smith  tells  me  that  she  will  not  wait  any 
longer,  and  charges  £60  for  a  single  dress.  I  hope 
you  fully  understand  that  there  must  be  an  end  to 
this. 

"  I  hear  from  your  mother  that  young  Erskine  is 
with  you  at  Brandon's.  I  do  not  think  much  of  him. 
243 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

He  is  not  well  off,  nor  likely  to  get  on,  as  he  has  taken 
to  poetry  and  so  forth.  I  am  told  also  that  a  man 
named  Trefusis  visits  at  the  Beeches  a  good  deal  now. 
He  must  be  a  fool,  for  he  contested  the  last  Birming- 
ham election,  and  came  out  at  the  foot  of  the  poll  with 
thirty-two  votes  through  calling  himself  a  Social 
Democrat  or  some  such  foreign  rubbish,  instead  of 
saying  out  like  a  man  that  he  was  a  Eadical.  I  sup- 
pose the  name  stuck  in  his  throat,  for  his  mother  was 
one  of  the  Howards  of  Breconcastle;  so  he  has  good 
blood  in  him,  though  his  father  was  nobody.  I  wish 
he  had  your  bills  to  pay;  he  could  buy  and  sell  me  ten 
times  over,  after  all  my  twenty-five  years'  service. 

"  As  I  am  thinking  of  getting  something  done  to 
the  house,  I  had  rather  you  did  not  come  back  this 
month,  if  you  can  possibly  hold  on  at  Brandon's.  Ee- 
member  me  to  him,  and  give  our  kind  regards  to  his 
wife.  I  should  be  obliged  if  you  would  gather  some 
hemlock  leaves  and  send  them  to  me.  I  want  them 
for  my  ointment;  the  stuff  the  chemists  sell  is  no  good. 
Your  mother's  eyes  are  bad  again;  and  your  brother 
Berkeley  has  been  gambling,  and  seems  to  think  I 
ought  to  pay  his  debts  for  him.  I  am  greatly  worried 
over  it  all,  and  I  hope  that,  until  you  have  settled 
yourself,  you  will  be  more  reasonable,  and  not  run 
these  everlasting  bills  upon  me.  You  are  enjoying 
yourself  out  of  reach  of  all  the  unpleasantness;  but  it 
bears  hardly  upon 

"  Your  affectionate  father, 

"  C.  B.  Lindsay." 
244 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

A  faint  sketch  of  the  lines  Time  intended  to  engrave 
on  Gertrude's  brow  appeared  there  as  she  read  the  let- 
ter; but  she  hastened  to  give  the  admiral's  kind  re- 
gards to  her  host  and  hostess,  and  discussed  her 
mother's  health  feelingly  with  them.  After  break- 
fast she  went  to  the  library,  and  wrote  her  reply: 

"Brandon  Beeches, 
"  Tuesday. 

"  Dear  Papa:  Considering  that  it  is  more  than  three 
years  since  you  paid  Madame  Smith  last,  and  that 
then  her  bill,  which  included  my  court  dress,  was  only 
£150,  I  cannot  see  how  I  could  possibly  have  been 
more  economical,  unless  you  expect  me  to  go  in  rags. 
I  am  sorry  that  Madame  Smith  has  asked  for  the 
money  at  such  an  inconvenient  time,  but  when  I 
begged  you  to  pay  her  something  in  March  last  year 
you  told  me  to  keep  her  quiet  by  giving  her  a  good 
order.  I  am  not  surprised  at  her  not  being  very  civil, 
as  she  has  plenty  of  tradesmen's  daughters  among  her 
customers  who  pay  her  more  than  £300  a  year  for  their 
dresses.  I  am  wearing  a  skirt  at  present  which  I  got 
two  years  ago. 

"  Sir  Charles  is  going  to  town  on  Thursday;  he  will 
bring  you  the  hemlock.  Tell  mamma  that  there  is 
an  old  woman  here  who  knows  some  wonderful  cure 
for  sore  eyes.  She  will  not  tell  what  the  ingredients 
are,  but  it  cures  everyone,  and  there  is  no  use  in  giv- 
ing an  oculist  two  guineas  for  telling  us  that  reading 
in  bed  is  bad  for  the  eyes,  when  we  know  perfectly 
245 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

well  that  mamma  will  not  give  up  doing  it.  If  you 
pay  Berkeley's  debts,  do  not  forget  that  he  owes  me  £3. 
"  Another  schoolfellow  of  mine  is  staying  here  now, 
and  I  think  that  Mr.  Trefusis  will  have  the  pleasure 
of  paying  her  bills  some  day.  He  is  a  great  pet  of 
Lady  Brandon's.  Sir  Charles  was  angry  at  first  be- 
cause she  invited  him  here,  and  we  were  all  surprised 
at  it.  The  man  has  a  bad  reputation,  and  headed  a 
mob  that  threw  down  the  walls  of  the  park;  and  we 
hardly  thought  he  would  be  cool  enough  to  come  after 
that.  But  he  does  not  seem  to  care  whether  we  want 
him  or  not;  and  he  comes  when  he  likes.  As  he  talks 
cleverly,  we  find  him  a  godsend  in  this  dull  place.  It 
is  really  not  such  a  paradise  as  you  seem  to  think,  but 
you  need  not  be  afraid  of  my  returning  any  sooner 
than  I  can  help. 

"  Your  affectionate  daughter, 

"  Gektrude  Lindsay." 

When  Gertrude  had  closed  this  letter,  and  torn  up 
her  father's,  -  she  thought  little  more  about  either. 
They  might  have  made  her  unhappy  had  they  found 
her  happy,  but  as  hopeless  discontent  was  her  normal 
state,  and  enjoyment  but  a  rare  accident,  recrimina- 
tory passages  with  her  father  only  put  her  into  a  bad 
humor,  and  did  not  in  the  least  disappoint  or  humili- 
ate her. 

For  the  sake  of  exercise,  she  resolved  to  carry  her 
letter  to  the  village  post  office  and  return  along  the 
Riverside  Koad,  whereby  she  had  seen  hemlock  grow- 
246 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

ing.  She  took  care  to  go  out  unobserved,  lest  Agatha 
should  volunteer  to  walk  with  her,  or  Jane  declare  her 
intention  of  driving  to  the  post  office  in  the  afternoon, 
and  sulk  for  the  rest  of  the  day  unless  the  trip  to  the 
village  were  postponed  until  then.  She  took  with 
her,  as  a  protection  against  tramps,  a  big  St.  Bernard 
dog  named  Max.  This  animal,  which  was  young  and 
enthusiastic,  had  taken  a  strong  fancy  to  her,  and  had 
expresed  it  frankly  and  boisterously;  and  she,  whose 
affections  had  been  starved  in  her  home  and  in  society, 
had  encouraged  him  with  more  kindness  than  she  had 
ever  shown  to  any  human  being. 

In  the  village,  having  posted  her  letter,  she  turned 
towards  a  lane  that  led  to  the  Kiverside  Road.  Max, 
unaware  of  her  reason  for  choosing  the  longest  way 
home,  remonstrated  by  halting  in  the  middle  of  the 
lane,  wagging  his  tail  rapidly,  and  uttering  gruff  barks. 

"  Don't  be  stupid,  sir,"  said  Gertrude  impatiently. 
'^  I  am  going  this  way." 

Max,  apparently  understanding,  rushed  after  her, 
passed  her,  and  disappeared  in  a  cloud  of  dust  raised 
by  his  effort  to  check  himself  when  he  had  left  her  far 
enough  behind.  When  he  came  back  she  kissed  his 
nose,  and  ran  a  race  with  him  until  she  too  was  pant- 
ing, and  had  to  stand  still  to  recover  her  breath,  whilst 
he  bounded  about,  barking  ferociously.  She  had  not 
for  many  years  enjoyed  such  a  frolic,  and  the  thought 
of  this  presently  brought  tears  to  her  eyes.«  Bather 
peevishly  she  bade  Max  be  quiet,  walked  slowly  to  cool 
herself,  and  put  up  her  sunshade  to  avert  freckles. 
247 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

The  sun  was  now  at  the  meridian.  On  a  slope  to 
Gertrude's  right  hand,  Sallust's  House,  with  its  cinna- 
mon-colored walls  and  yellow  frieze,  gave  a  foreign 
air  to  the  otherwise  very  English  landscape.  She 
passed  by  without  remembering  who  lived  there.  Fur- 
ther down,  on  some  waste  land  separated  from  the 
road  by  a  dry  ditch  and  a  low  mud  wall,  a  cluster  of 
hemlocks,  nearly  six  feet  high,  poisoned  the  air  with 
their  odor.  She  crossed  the  ditch,  took  a  pair  of  gar- 
dening gloves  from  her  plaited  straw  handbasket,  and 
busied  herself  with  the  hemlock  leaves,  pulling  the 
tender  ones,  separating  them  from  the  stalk,  and  fill- 
ing the  basket  with  the  web.  She  forgot  Max  until 
an  impression  of  dead  silence,  as  if  the  earth  had 
stopped,  caused  her  to  look  round  in  vague  dread. 
Trefusis,  with  his  hand  abandoned  to  the  dog,  who 
was  trying  how  much  of  it  he  could  cram  into  his 
mouth,  was  standing  within  a  few  yards  of  her,  watch- 
ing her  intently.  Gertrude  turned  pale,  and  came 
out  hastily  from  among  the  bushes.  Then  she  had  a 
strange  sensation  as  if  something  had  happened  high 
above  her  head.  There  was  a  threatening  growl, 
a  commanding  exclamation,  and  an  unaccountable 
pause,  at  the  expiration  of  which  she  found  herself 
supine  on  the  sward,  with  her  parasol  between  her  eyes 
and  the  sun.  A  sudden  scoop  of  Max's  wet  warm 
tongue  in  her  right  ear  startled  her  into  activity.  She 
sat  up,  and  saw  Trefusis  on  his  knees  at  her  side  hold- 
ing the  parasol  with  an  .unconcerned  expression,  whilst 
Max  was  snuffing  at  her  in  restless  anxiety  opposite. 
248 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"I  must  go  home/'  she  said.  "I  must  go  home 
instantly." 

"Not  at  all/'  said  Trefusis,  soothingly.  "They 
have  just  sent  word  to  say  that  everything  is  settled 
satisfactorily  and  that  you  need  not  come." 

"  Have  they?  "  she  said  faintly.  Then  she  lay  down 
again,  and  it  seemed  to  her  that  a  very  long  time 
elapsed.  Suddenly  recollecting  that  Tref  usis  had  sup- 
ported her  gently  with  his  hand  to  prevent  her  falling 
hack  too  rudely,  she  rose  again,  and  this  time  got  upon 
her  feet  with  his  help. 

'^  I  must  go  home,"  she  said  again.  "  It  is  a  matter 
of  life  or  death." 

"  No,  no,"  he  said  softly.  "  It  is  all  right.  You 
may  depend  on  me." 

She  looked  at  him  earnestly.  He  had  taken  her 
hand  to  steady  her,  for  she  was  swaying  a  little.  "  Are 
you  sure,"  she  said,  grasping  his  arm.  "Are  you 
quite  sure?" 

"  Absolutely  certain.  You  know  I  am  always  right, 
do  you  not?  " 

"Yes,  oh,  yes;  you  have  always  been  true  to  me. 

You "     Here  her  senses  came  back  with  a  rush. 

Dropping  his  hand  as  if  it  had  become  red  hot,  she 
said  sharply,  "  What  are  you  talking  about?  " 

"I  don't  know/'  he  said,  resuming  his  indifferent 
manner  with  a  laugh.  "Are  you  better?  Let  me 
drive  you  to  the  Beeches.  My  stable  is  within  a  stone's 
throw;  I  can  get  a  trap  out  in  ten  minutes." 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  Gertrude  haughtily.  "  I  do 
249 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

not  wish  to  drive."  She  paused,  and  added  in  some 
bewilderment,  "  What  has  happened?  " 

*^  You  fainted,  and " 

"  I  did  not  faint,"  said  Gertrude  indignantly.  "  I 
never  fainted  in  my  life." 

"  Yes,  you  did." 

"  Pardon  me,  Mr.  Tref usis.     I  did  not." 

"You  shall  judge  for  yourself.  I  was  coming 
through  this  field  when  I  saw  you  gathering  hem- 
lock. Hemlock  is  interesting  on  account  of  Socrates, 
and  you  were  interesting  as  a  young  lady  gathering 
poison.  So  I  stopped  to  look  on.  Presently  you  came 
out  from  among  the  bushes  as  if  you  had  seen  a  snake 
there.  Then  you  fell  into  my  arms — which  led  me 
to  suppose  that  you  had  fainted — and  Max,  conclud- 
ing that  it  was  all  my  fault,  nearly  sprang  at  my 
throat.  You  were  overpowered  by  the  scent  of  the 
water-hemlock,  which  you  must  have  been  inhaling 
for  ten  minutes  or  more." 

"  I  did  not  know  that  there  was  any  danger,"  said 
Gertrude,  crestfallen.  "  I  felt  very  tired  when  I  came 
to.  That  was  why  I  lay  so  long  the  second  time.  I 
really  could  not  help  it." 

"  You  did  not  lie  very  long." 

"  Not  when  I  first  fell;  that  was  only  a  few  seconds, 
I  know.  But  I  must  have  lain  there  nearly  ten 
minutes  after  I  recovered." 

"You  were  nearly  a  minute  insensible  when  you 
first  fell,  and  when  you  recovered  you  only  rested  for 
about  one  second.  After  that  you  raved,  and  I  in- 
250 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

vented  suitable  answers  until  you  suddenly  asked  me 
what  I  was  talking  about." 

Gertrude  reddened  a  little  as  the  possibility  of  her 
having  raved  indiscreetly  occurred  to  her.  "  It  was 
very  silly  of  me  to  faint,"  she  said. 

"  You  could  not  help  it;  you  are  only  human.  I 
shall  walk  with  you  to  the  Beeches." 

^^  Thank  you;  I  will  not  trouble  you/'  she  said 
quickly. 

He  shook  his  head.  "  I  do  not  know  how  long  the 
effect  of  that  abominable  water-weed  may  last,"  he 
said,  "  and  I  dare  not  leave  you  to  walk  alone.  If 
you  prefer  it  I  can  send  you  in  a  trap  with  my  gar- 
dener, but  I  had  rather  accompany  you  myself." 

"  You  are  giving  yourself  a  great  deal  of  unneces- 
sary trouble.  I  will  walk.  I  am  quite  well  again  and 
need  no  assistance." 

They  started  without  another  word.  Gertrude  had 
to  concentrate  all  her  energy  to  conceal  from  him  that 
she  was  giddy.  Numbness  and  lassitude  crept  upon 
her,  and  she  was  beginning  to  hope  that  she  was  only 
dreaming  it  all  when  he  roused  her  by  saying, 

"  Take  my  arm." 

"  No,  thank  you." 

'^  Do  not  be  so  senselessly  obstinate.  You  will  have 
to  lean  on  the  hedge  for  support  if  you  refuse  my  help. 
I  am  sorry  I  did  not  insist  on  getting  the  trap." 

Gertrude  had  not  been  spoken  to  in  this  tone  since 
her   childhood.      "  I   am   perfectly   well,"   she   said 
sharply.     "  You  are  really  very  officious." 
251 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"You  are  not  perfectly  well,  and  you  know  it. 
However,  if  you  make  a  brave  struggle,  you  will  prob- 
ably be  able  to  walk  home  without  my  assistance,  and 
the  effort  may  do  you  good." 

"  You  are  very  rude,"  she  said  peremptorily. 

"  I  know  it,"  he  replied  calmly.  "  You  will  find 
three  classes  of  men  polite  to  you — slaves,  men  who 
think  much  of  their  manners  and  nothing  of  you,  and 
your  lovers.  I  am  none  of  these,  and  therefore  give 
you  back  your  ill  manners  with  interest.  Why  do  you 
resist  your  good  angel  by  suppressing  those  natural 
and  sincere  impulses  which  come  to  you  often  enough, 
and  sometimes  bring  a  look  into  your  face  that  might 
tame  a  bear — a  look  which  you  hasten  to  extinguish 
as  a  thief  darkens  his  lantern  at  the  sound  of  a  foot- 
step." 

"Mr.  Trefusis,  I  am  not  accustomed  to  be  lectured." 

"  That  is  why  I  lecture  you.  I  felt  curious  to  see 
how  your  good  breeding,  by  which  I  think  you  set 
some  store,  would  serve  you  in  entirely  novel  circum- 
stances— those  of  a  man  speaking  his  mind  to  you,  for 
instance.  What  is  the  result  of  my  experiment?  In- 
stead of  rebuking  me  with  the  sweetness  and  dignity 
which  I  could  not,  in  spite  of  my  past  observation, 
help  expecting  from  you,  you  churlishly  repel  my  oifer 
of  the  assistance  you  need,  tell  me  that  I  am  very  rude, 
very  officious,  and,  in  short,  do  what  you  can  to  make 
my  position  disagreeable  and  humiliating." 

She  looked  at  him  haughtily,  but  his  expression  was 
void  of  offence  or  fear,  and  he  continued,  unanswered. 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

'^  I  would  bear  all  this  from  a  working  woman  with- 
out remonstrance,  for  she  would  owe  me  no  graces  of 
manner  or  morals.  But  you  are  a  lady.  That  means 
that  many  have  starved  and  drudged  in  uncleanly  dis- 
comfort in  order  that  you  may  have  white  and  un- 
broken hands,  fine  garments,  and  exquisite  manners 
— that  you  may  be  a  living  fountain  of  those  influ- 
ences that  soften  our  natures  and  lives.  When  such 
a  costly  thing  as  a  lady  breaks  down  at  the  first  touch 
of  a  firm  hand,  I  feel  justified  in  complaining." 

Gertrude  walked  on  quickly,  and  said  between  her 
teeth,  "  I  don't  want  to  hear  any  of  your  absurd  views, 
Mr.  Trefusis." 

He  laughed.  "  My  unfortunate  views!  "  he  said. 
"  Whenever  I  make  an  inconvenient  remark  it  is  al- 
ways set  aside  as  an  expression  of  certain  dangerous 
crazes  with  which  I  am  supposed  to  be  afflicted. 
When  I  point  out  to  Sir  Charles  that  one  of  his  favor- 
ite artists  has  not  accurately  observed  something  be- 
fore attempting  to  draw  it,  he  replies,  '  You  know 
our  views  differ  on  these  things,  Trefusis.'  When  I 
told  Miss  Wylie's  guardian  that  his  emigration 
scheme  was  little  better  than  a  fraud,  he  said,  '  You 
must  excuse  me,  but  I  cannot  enter  into  your  peculiar 
views.'  One  of  my  views  at  present  is  that  Miss 
Lindsay  is  more  amiable  under  the  influence  of  hem- 
lock than  under  that  of  the  social  system  which  has 
made  her  so  unhappy." 

"Well!"  exclaimed  Gertrude,  outraged.  Then, 
after  a  pause,  "  I  was  under  the  impression  that  I  had 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

accepted  the  escort  of  a  gentleman."  Then,  after  an- 
other pause,  Trefusis  being  quite  undisturbed,  "  How 
do  you  know  that  I  am  unhappy?  " 

"  By  a  certain  defect  in  your  countenance,  which 
lacks  the  crowning  beauty  of  happiness;  and  a  certain 
defect  in  your  voice  which  will  never  disappear  until 
you  learn  to  love  or  pity  those  to  whom  you  speak." 

"  You  are  wrong,"  said  Gertrude,  with  calm  disdain. 
"  You  do  not  understand  me  in  the  least.  I  am  par- 
ticularly attached  to  my  friends." 

"  Then  I  have  never  seen  you  in  their  company." 

"  You  are  still  wrong." 

"  Then  how  can  you  speak  as  you  do,  look  as  you 
do,  act  as  you  do?" 

"  What  do  you  mean?     How  do  I  look  and  act?  " 

"  Like  one  of  the  railings  of  Belgrave  Square, 
cursed  with  consciousness  of  itself,  fears  of  the  judg- 
ment of  the  other  railings,  and  doubts  of  their  fitness 
to  stand  in  the  same  row  with  it.  You  are  cold,  mis- 
trustful, cruel  to  nervous  or  clumsy  people,  and  more 
afraid  of  the  criticisms  of  those  with  whom  you  dance 
and  dine  than  of  your  conscience.  All  of  which  pre- 
vents you  from  looking  like  an  angel." 

"  Thank  you.  Do  you  consider  paying  compli- 
ments the  perfection  of  gentlemanly  behavior?  " 

"  Have  I  been  paying  you  many?  That  last  re- 
mark of  mine  was  not  meant  as  one.  On  my  honor, 
the  angels  will  not  disappoint  me  if  they  are  no  love- 
lier than  you  should  be  if  you  had  that  look  in  your 
face  and  that  tone  in  your  voice  I  spoke  of  just  now. 

354 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

It  can  hardly  displease  you  to  hear  that.  If  I  were 
particularly  handsome  myself,  I  should  like  to  be  told 
so." 

"  I  am  sorry  I  cannot  tell  you  so." 

"Oh!  Ha!  ha!  What  a  retort.  Miss  Lindsay!  You 
are  not  sorry  either;  you  are  rather  glad." 

Gertrude  knew  it,  and  was  angry  with  herself,  not 
because  her  retort  was  false,  but  because  she  thought 
it  unladylike.  "  You  have  no  right  to  annoy  me,"  she 
exclaimed,  in  spite  of  herself. 

'^  i^one  whatever,"  he  said,  humbly.  "  If  I  have 
done  so,  forgive  me  before  we  part.  I  will  go  no  fur- 
ther with  you;  Max  will  give  the  alarm  if  you  faint  in 
the  avenue,  which  I  don't  think  you  are  likely  to  do, 
as  you  have  forgotten  all  about  the  hemlock." 

"  Oh,  how  maddening!  "  she  cried.  "  I  have  left 
my  basket  behind." 

"  Never  mind;  I  will  find  it  and  have  it  filled  and 
sent  to  you." 

"  Thank  you.     I  am  sorry  to  trouble  you." 

"  Not  at  all.  I  hope  you  do  not  want  the  hemlock 
to  help  you  to  get  rid  of  the  burden  of  life." 

"  Nonsense.  I  want  it  for  my  father,  who  uses  it 
for  medicine." 

"I  will  bring  it  myself  to-morrow.  Is  that  soon 
enough  ?  " 

"  Quite.  I  am  in  no  hurry.  Thank  you,  Mr.  Tre- 
fusis.    Good-bye." 

She  gave  him  her  hand,  and  even  smiled  a  little, 
and  then  hurried  away.     He  stood  watching  her  as 

255 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

she  passed  along  the  avenue  under  the  beeches.  Once, 
when  she  came  into  a  band  of  sunlight  at  a  gap  in  the 
trees,  she  made  so  pretty  a  figure  in  her  spring  dress 
of  violet  and  white  that  his  eyes  kindled  as  he  gazed. 
He  took  out  his  note-book,  and  entered  her  name  and 
the  date,  with  a  brief  memorandum. 

"  I  have  thawed  her/'  he  said  to  himself  as  he  put 
up  his  book.  "  She  shall  learn  a  lesson  or- two  to  hand 
on  to  her  children  before  I  have  done  with  her.  A 
trifle  underbred,  too,  or  she  would  not  insist  so  much 
on  her  breeding.  Henrietta  used  to  wear  a  dress  like 
that.  I  am  glad  to  see  that  there  is  no  danger  of  her 
taking  to  me  personally." 

He  turned  away,  and  saw  a  crone  passing,  bending 
beneath  a  bundle  of  sticks.  He  eyed  it  curiously;  and 
she  scowled  at  him  and  hurried  on. 

"  Hallo,''  he  said. 

She  continued  for  a  few  steps,  but  her  courage 
failed  her  and  she  stopped. 

"  You  are  Mrs.  Hickling,  I  think? '' 

"  Yes,  please  your  worship." 

"You  are  the  woman  who  carried  away  an  old 
wooden  gate  that  lay  on  Sir  Charles  Brandon's  land 
last  winter  and  used  it  for  firewood.  You  were  impris- 
oned for  seven  days  for  it." 

"  You  may  send  me  there  again  if  you  like,"  she  re- 
torted, in  a  cracked  voice,  as  she  turned  at  bay.  "  But 
the  Lord  will  make  me  even  with  you  some  day. 
Cursed  be  them  that  oppress  the  poor  and  needy;  it 
is  one  of  the  seven  deadly  sins." 
256 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"  Those  green  laths  on  your  back  are  the  remainder 
of  my  garden  gate/'  he  said.  "  You  took  the  first  half 
last  Saturday.  Next  time  you  want  fuel  come  to  the 
house  and  ask  for  coals,  and  let  my  gates  alone.  I 
suppose  you  can  enjoy  a  fire  without  stealing  the  com- 
bustibles. Now  pay  me  for  my  gate  by  telling  me 
something  I  want  to  know." 

"  And  a  kind  gentleman  too,  sir;  blessings ^" 

"  What  is  the  hemlock  good  for?  " 

"  The  hemlock,  kind  gentleman?  For  the  evil,  sir, 
to  be  sure." 

''  Scrofulous  ulcers! "  he  exclaimed,  recoiling. 
"The  father  of  that  beautiful  girl!"  He  turned 
homeward,  and  trudged  along  with  his  head  bent, 
muttering,  "  All  rotten  to  the  bone.  Oh,  civilization! 
civilization!  civilization! " 


17  257 


CHAPTEE   XIV 

"  What  has  come  over  Gertrude?  "  said  Agatha  one 
day  to  Lady  Brandon. 

"  Why?     Is  anything  the  matter  with  her?  '' 

"  I  don't  know;  she  has  not  been  the  same  since  she 
poisoned  herself.  And  why  did  she  not  tell  about  it? 
But  for  Trefusis  we  should  never  have  known." 

"  Gertrude  always  made  secrets  of  things." 

"  She  was  in  a  vile  temper  for  two  days  after;  and 
now  she  is  quite  changed.  She  falls  into  long  rever- 
ies, and  does  not  hear  a  word  of  what  is  going  on 
around.  Then  she  starts  into  life  again,  and  begs 
your  pardon  with  the  greatest  sweetness  for  not  catch- 
ing what  you  have  said." 

"  I  hate  her  when  she  is  polite;  it  is  not  natural  to 
her.  As  to  her  going  to  sleep,  that  is  the  effect  of  the 
hemlock.  We  know  a  man  who  took  a  spoonful  of. 
strychnine  in  a  bath,  and  he  never  was  the  same  after- 
wards." 

"  I  think  she  is  making  up  her  mind  to  encourage 
Erskine,"  said  Agatha.  "When  I  came  here  he 
hardly  dared  speak  to  her — at  least,  she  always 
snubbed  him.  Now  she  lets  him  talk  as  much  as  he 
likes,  and  actually  sends  him  on  messages  and  allows 
him  to  carry  things  for  her." 

358 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

'^Yes.  I  never  saw  anybody  like  Gertrude  in  my 
life.  In  London,  if  men  were  attentive  to  her,  she 
sat  on  them  for  being  officious;  and  if  they  let  her 
alone  she  was  angry  at  being  neglected.  Erskine  is 
quite  good  enough  for  her,  I  think." 

Here  Erskine  appeared  at  the  door  and  looked 
round  the  room. 

"  She's  not  here,"  said  Jane. 

"  I  am  seeking  Sir  Charles,"  he  said,  withdrawing 
somewhat  stiffly. 

"  What  a  lie!  "  said  Jane,  discomfited  by  his  recep- 
tion of  her  jest.  "  He  was  talking  to  Sir  Charles  ten 
minutes  ago  in  the  billiard  room.  Men  are  such  con- 
ceited fools! " 

Agatha  had  strolled  to  the  window,  and  was  look- 
ing discontentedly  at  the  prospect,  as  she  had  often 
done  at  school  when  alone,  and  sometimes  did  now 
in  society.  The  door  opened  again,  and  Sir  Charles 
appeared.  He,  too,  looked  round,  but  when  his  rov- 
ing glance  reached  Agatha,  it  cast  anchor;  and  he 
came  in. 

"  Are  you  busy  just  now.  Miss  Wylie?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  said  Jane  hastily.  "  She  is  going  to  write* 
a  letter  for  me." 

"Eeally,  Jane,"  he  said,  "I  think  you  are  old 
enough  to  write  your  letters  without  troubling  Miss 
Wylie." 

"  When  I  do  write  my  own  letters  you  always  find 
fault  with  them,"  she  retorted. 

"I  thought  perhaps  you  might  have  leisure  to 
259 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

try  over  a  duet  with  me,"  he  said,  turning  to 
Agatha. 

"  Certainly,"  she  replied,  hoping  to  smooth  matters 
by  humoring  him.  "  The  letter  will  do  any  time  be- 
fore post  hour." 

Jane  reddened,  and  said  shortly,  "I  will  write  it 
myself,  if  you  will  not." 

Sir  Charles  quite  lost  his  temper.  "  How  can  you 
be  so  damnably  rude  ?  "  he  said,  turning  upon  his  wife. 
"  What  objection  have  you  to  my  singing  duets  with 
Miss  Wylie?" 

"  Mee  language  that!  "  said  Jane.  "  I  never  said 
I  objected;  and  you  have  no  right  to  drag  her  away 
to  the  piano  just  when  she  is  going  to  write  a  letter 
for  me." 

"  I  do  not  wish  Miss  Wylie  to  do  anything  except 
what  pleases  her  best.  It  seems  to  me  that  writing 
letters  to  your  tradespeople  cannot  be  a  very  pleasant 
occupation." 

"  Pray  don't  mind  me,"  said  Agatha.  '^  It  is  not 
the  least  trouble  to  me.  I  used  to  write  all  Jane's 
letters  for  her  at  school.  Suppose  I  write  the  letter 
first,  and  then  we  can  have  the  duet.  You  will  not 
mind  waiting  five  minutes?  " 

"  I  can  wait  as  long  as  you  please,  of  course.  But 
it  seems  such  an  absurd  abuse  of  your  good  nature 
that  I  cannot  help  protesti " 

"  Oh,  let  it  wait!  "  exclaimed  Jane.  "  Such  a  ridic- 
ulous fuss  to  make  about  asking  Agatha  to  write  a 
letter,  just  because  you  happen  to  want  her  to  play 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

you  your  duets!  I  am  certain  she  is  heartily  sick  and 
tired  of  them." 

Agatha,  to  escape  the  altercation,  went  to  the  li- 
brary and  wrote  the  letter.  When  she  returned  to  the 
drawing-room,  she  found  no  one  there;  but  Sir 
Charles  came  in  presently. 

"  I  am  so  sorry.  Miss  Wylie,"  he  said,  as  he  opened 
the  piano  for  her,  "  that  you  should  be  incommoded 
because  my  wife  is  silly  enough  to  be  jealous." 

"Jealous!" 

"  Of  course.     Idiocy!  " 

"Oh,  you  are  mistaken,"  said  Agatha,  incredu- 
lously.    "  How  could  she  possibly  be  jealous  of  me?  " 

"  She  is  jealous  of  everybody  and  everything,"  he 
replied  bitterly,  "and  she  cares  for  nobody  and  for 
nothing.  You  do  not  know  what  I  have  to  endure 
sometimes  from  her." 

Agatha  thought  her  most  discreet  course  was  to  sit 
down  immediately  and  begin  "  I  would  that  my  love." 
Whilst  she  played  and  sang,  she  thought  over  what 
Sir  Charles  had  just  let  slip.  She  had  found  him  a 
pleasant  companion,  light-hearted,  fond  of  music  and 
fun,  polite  and  considerate,  appreciative  of  her  talents, 
quick-witted  without  being  oppressively  clever,  and,  as 
a  married  man,  disinterested  in  his  attentions.  But 
it  now  occurred  to  her  that  perhaps  they  had  been 
a  good  deal  together  of  late. 

Sir  Charles  had  by  this  time  wandered  from  his 
part  into  hers;  and  he  now  recalled  her  to  the  music 
by  stopping  to  ask  whether  he  was  right.  Knowing 
261 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

by  experience  what  his  difficulty  was  likely  to  be,  she 
gave  him  his  note  and  went  on.  They  had  not  been 
singing  long  when  Jane  came  back  and  sat  down,  ex- 
pressing a  hope  that  her  presence  would  not  disturb 
them.  It  did  disturb  them.  Agatha  suspected  that 
she  had  come  there  to  watch  them,  and  Sir  Charles 
knew  it.  Besides,  Lady  Brandon,  even  when  her 
mind  was  tranquil,  was  habitually  restless.  She  could 
not  speak  because  of  the  music,  and,  though  she  held 
an  open  book  in  her  hand,  she  could  not  read  and 
watch  simultaneously.  She  gaped,  and  leaned  to  one 
end  of  the  sofa  until,  on  the  point  of  overbalancing, 
she  recovered  herself  with  a  prodigious  bounce.  The 
floor  vibrated  at  her  every  movement.  At  last  she 
could  keep  silence  no  longer. 

"  Oh,  dear!  "  she  said,  yawning  audibly.  *^  It  must 
be  five  o'clock  at  the  very  earliest." 

Agatha  turned  round  upon  the  piano-stool,  feeling 
that  music  and  Lady  Brandon  were  incompatible.  Sir 
Charles,  for  his  guest's  sake,  tried  hard  to  restrain  his 
exasperation. 

"  Probably  your  watch  will  tell  you,"  he  said. 

"  Thank  you  for  nothing,"  said  Jane.  "  Agatha, 
where  is  Gertrude  ?  " 

"  How  can  Miss  Wylie  possibly  tell  you  where  she 
is,  Jane?     I  think  you  have  gone  mad  to-day." 

"  She  is  most  likely  playing  billiards  with  Mr.  Ers- 
kine,"  said  Agatha,  interposing  quickly  to  forestall 
a  retort  from  Jane,  with  its  usual  sequel  of  a  domestic 
squabble. 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"  I  think  it  is  very  strange  of  Gertrude  to  pass  the 
whole  day  with  Chester  in  the  billiard  room,"  said 
Jane  discontentedly. 

"  There  is  not  the  slightest  impropriety  in  her  doing 
so,"  said  Sir  Charles.  "  If  our  hospitality  does  not 
place  Miss  Lindsay  above  suspicion,  the  more  shame 
for  us.  How  would  you  feel  if  anyone  else  made  such 
a  remark?" 

"  Oh,  stuff!  "  said  Jane  peevishly.  "  You  are  al- 
ways preaching  long  rigmaroles  about  nothing  at  all. 
I  did  not  say  there  was  any  impropriety  about  Ger- 
trude. She  is  too  proper  to  be  pleasant,  in  my 
opinion." 

Sir  Charles,  unable  to  trust  himself  further, 
frowned  and  left  the  room,  Jane  speeding  him  with 
a  contemptuous  laugh. 

"  Don't  ever  be  such  a  fool  as  to  get  married,"  she 
said,  when  he  was  gone.  She  looked  up  as  she  spoke, 
and  was  alarmed  to  see  Agatha  seated  on  the  piano- 
forte, with  her  ankles  swinging  in  the  old  school 
fashion. 

"  Jane,"  she  said,  surveying  her  hostess  coolly,  "  do 
you  know  what  I  would  do  if  I  were  Sir  Charles?  " 

Jane  did  not  know. 

"  I  would  get  a  big  stick,  beat  you  black  and  blue, 
and  then  lock  you  up  on  bread  and  water  for  a 
week." 

Jane  half  rose,  red  and  angry.  "  Wh — why?  "  she 
said,  relapsing  upon  the  sofa. 

"  If  I  were  a  man,  I  would  not,  for  mere  chivalry's 
263 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

sake,  let  a  woman  treat  me  like  a  troublesome  dog. 
You  want  a  sound  thrashing." 

"  I'd  like  to  see  anybody  thrash  me,"  said  Jane,  ris- 
ing again  and  displaying  her  formidable  person  erect. 
Then  she  burst  into  tears,  and  said,  "  I  won't  have 
such  things  said  to  me  in  my  own  house.  How  dare 
you?" 

"You  deserve  it  for  being  jealous  of  me,"  said 
Agatha. 

Jane's  eyes  dilated  angrily.  ^^I! — I! — jealous 
of  you! "  She  looked  round,  as  if  for  a  missile. 
Not  finding  one,  she  sat  down  again,  and  said 
in  a  voice  stifled  with  tears,  "J — Jealous  of  you, 
indeed! " 

"  You  have  good  reason  to  be,  for  he  is  fonder  of 
me  than  of  you." 

Jane  opened  her  mouth  and  eyes  convulsively,  but 
only  uttered  a  gasp,  and  Agatha  proceeded  calmly, 
"  I  am  polite  to  him,  which  you  never  are.  When  he 
speaks  to  me  I  allow  him  to  finish  his  sentence  with- 
out expressing,  as  you  do,  a  foregone  conclusion  that 
it  is  not  worth  attending  to.  I  do  not  yawn  and 
talk  whilst  he  is  singing.  When  he  converses  with 
me  on  art  or  literature,  about  which  he  knows  twice 
as  much  as  I  do,  and  at  least  ten  times  as  much  as 
you"  (Jane  gasped  again)  "I  do  not  make  a  silly 
answer  and  turn  to  my  neighbor  at  the  other  side 
with  a  remark  about  the  stables  or  the  weather.  When 
he  is  willing  to  be  pleased,  as  he  always  is,  I  am  willing 
to  be  pleasant.  And  that  is  why  he  likes  me." 
264 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"  He  does  not  like  you.  He  is  the  same  to  every- 
one/' 

"  Except  his  wife.  He  likes  me  so  much  that  you, 
like  a  great  goose  as  you  are,  came  up  here  to  watch 
us  at  our  duets,  and  made  yourself  as  disagreeable  as 
you  possibly  could  whilst  I  was  making  myself  charm- 
ing.    The  poor  man  was  ashamed  of  you." 

"  He  wasn't,"  said  Jane,  sobbing.  "  I  didn't  do 
anything.  I  didn't  say  anything.  I  won't  bear  it. 
I  will  get  a  divorce.     I  will " 

"  You  will  mend  your  ways  if  you  have  any  sense 
left,"  said  Agatha  remorselessly.  "  Do  not  make  such 
a  noise,  or  someone  will  come  to  see  what  is  the  mat- 
ter, and  I  shall  have  to  get  down  from  the  piano, 
where  I  am  very  comfortable." 

"  It  is  you  who  are  jealous." 

"  Oh,  is  it,  Jane?  I  have  not  allowed  Sir  Charles 
to  fall  in  love  with  me  yet,  but  I  can  do  so  very  easily. 
What  will  you  wager  that  he  will  not  kiss  me  before 
to-morrow  evening?  " 

"  It  will  be  very  mean  and  nasty  of  you  if  he 
does.  You  seem  to  think  that  I  can  be  treated  like 
a  child." 

"  So  you  are  a  child,"  said  Agatha,  descending  from 
her  perch  and  preparing  to  go.  '^  An  occasional  slap- 
ping does  you  good." 

"  It  is  nothing  to  you  whether  I  agree  with  my 
husband  or  not,"  said  Jane  with  sudden  fierceness. 

"  Not  if  you  quarrel  with  him  in  private,  as  well- 
bred  couples  do.     But  when  it  occurs  in  my  presence , 
265 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

it  makes  me  uncomfortable,  and  I  object  to  being 
made  uncomfortable." 

"  You  would  not  be  here  at  all  if  I  had  not  asked 
you." 

"  Just  think  how  dull  the  house  would  be  without 
me,  Jane! " 

"  Indeed!  It  was  not  dull  before  you  came.  Ger- 
trude always  behaved  like  a  lady,  at  least." 

"  I  am  sorry  that  her  example  was  so  utterly  lost 
on  you." 

"I  won't  bear  it,"  said  Jane  with  a  sob  and  a 
plunge  upon  the  sofa  that  made  the  lustres  of  the 
chandeliers  rattle.  "  I  wouldn't  have  asked  you  if 
I  had  thought  you  could  be  so  hateful.  I  will  never 
ask  you  again." 

"  I  will  make  Sir  Charles  divorce  you  for  incom- 
patibility of  temper  and  marry  me.  Then  I  shall  have 
the  place  to  myself." 

"  He  can't  divorce  me  for  that,  thank  goodness. 
You  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about." 

Agatha  laughed.  "  Come,"  she  said  good-humor- 
edly,  '^  don't  be  an  old  ass,  Jane.  Wash  your  face  be- 
fore anyone  sees  it,  and  remember  what  I  have  told 
you  about  Sir  Charles." 

"  It  is  very  hard  to  be  called  an  ass  in  one's  own 
house." 

"It  is  harder  to  be  treated  as  one,  like  your  hus- 
band. I  am  going  to  look  for  him  in  the  billiard 
room." 

Jane  ran  after  her,  and  caught  her  by  the  sleeve. 
266 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"  Agatha/'  she  pleaded,  "  promise  me  that  you  won't 
be  mean.     Say  that  you  won't  make  love  to  him." 

"  I  will  consider  about  it,"  replied  Agatha  gravely. 

Jane  uttered  a  groan  and  sank  into  a  chair,  which 
creaked  at  the  shock.  Agatha  turned  on  the  thresh- 
old, and  seeing  her  shaking  her  head,  pressing  her 
eyes,  and  tapping  with  her  heel  in  a  restrained  frenzy, 
said  quickly, 

"  Here  are  the  Waltons,  and  the  Fitzgeorges,  and 
Mr.  Trefusis  coming  upstairs.  How  do  you  do,  Mrs. 
Walton?  Lady  Brandon  will  be  so  glad  to  see  you. 
Good-evening,  Mr.  Fitzgeorge." 

Jane  sprang  up,  wiped  her  eyes,  and,  with  her  hands 
on  her  hair,  smoothing  it,  rushed  to  a  mirror.  No 
visitors  appearing,  she  perceived  that  she  was,  for  per- 
haps the  hundredth  time  in  her  life,  the  victim  of  an 
imposture  devised  by  Agatha.  She,  gratified  by  the 
success  of  her  attempt  to  regain  her  old  ascendancy 
over  Jane — she  had  made  it  with  misgiving,  notwith- 
standing her  apparent  confidence — went  downstairs 
to  the  library,  where  she  found  Sir  Charles  gloom- 
ily trying  to  drown  his  domestic  troubles  in  art 
criticism. 

"I  thought  you  were  in  the  billiard  room,"  said 
Agatha. 

"  I  only  peeped  in,"  he  replied;  "  but  as  I  saw  some- 
thing particular  going  on,  I  thought  it  best  to  slip 
away,  and  I  have  been  alone  ever  since." 

The  something  particular  which  Sir  Charles  had 
not  wished  to  interrupt  was  only  a  game  of  billiards. 
267 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

It  was  the  first  opportunity  Erskine  had  ever  enjoyed 
of  speaking  to  Gertrude  at  leisure  and-  alone.  Yet 
their  conversation  had  never  been  so  commonplace. 
She,  liking  the  game,  played  very  well  and  chatted 
indijfferently;  he  played  badly,  and  broached  trivial 
topics  in  spite  of  himself.  After  an  hour-and-a-half 's 
play,  Gertrude  had  announced  that  this  game  must 
be  their  last.  He  thought  desperately  that  if  he  were 
to  miss  many  more  strokes  the  game  must  presently 
end,  and  an  opportunity  which  might  never  recur 
pass  beyond  recall.  He  determined  to  tell  her  with- 
out preface  that  he  adored  her,  but  when  he  opened 
his  lips  a  question  came  forth  of  its  own  accord  relat- 
ing to  the  Persian  way  of  playing  billiards.  Gertrude 
had  never  been  in  Persia,  but  had  seen  some  Eastern 
billiard  cues  in  the  India  museum.  Were  not  the 
Hindoos  wonderful  people  for  filigree  work,  and  car- 
pets, and  such  things?  Did  he  not  think  the  crooked- 
ness of  their  carpet  patterns  a  blemish?  Some  people 
pretended  to  admire  them,  but  was  not  that  all  non- 
sense? Was  not  the  modern  polished  floor,  with  a 
rug  in  the  middle,  much  superior  to  the  old  carpet 
fitted  into  the  corners  of  the  room?  Yes.  Enor- 
mously superior.     Immensely 

"  Why,  what  are  you  thinking  of  to-day,  Mr.  Ers- 
kine?    You  have  played  with  my  ball." 

"  I  am  thinking  of  you." 

"What  did  you  say?"  said  Gertrude,  not  catching 
the  serious  turn  he  had  given  to  the  conversation,  and 
poising  her  cue  for  a  stroke.     "Oh!  I  am  as  bad  as 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

you;  that  was  the  worst  stroke  I  ever  made,  I  think. 
I  beg  your 'pardon;  you  said  something  just  now." 

"I  forget.  Nothing  of  any  consequence."  And 
he  groaned  at  his  own  cowardice. 

"  Suppose  we  stop,"  she  said.  "  There  is  no  use  in 
finishing  the  game  if  our  hands  are  out.  I  am  rather 
tired  of  it." 

"  Certainly — if  you  wish  it." 

*'  I  will  finish  if  you  like." 

"  Not  at  all.     What  pleases  you,  pleases  me." 

Gertrude  made  him  a  little  bow,  and  idly  knocked 
the  balls  about  with  her  cue.  Erskine's  eyes  wan- 
dered, and  his  lip  moved  irresolutely.  He  had  settled 
with  himself  that  his  declaration  should  be  a  frank 
one — heart  to  heart.  He  had  pictured  himself  in  the 
act  of  taking  her  hand  delicately,  and  saying,  "  Ger- 
trude, I  love  you.  May  I  tell  you  so  again?  "  But 
this  scheme  did  not  now  seem  practicable. 

"  Miss  Lindsay." 

Gertrude,  bending  over  the  table,  looked  up  in 
alarm. 

"  The  present  is  as  good  an  opportunity  as  I  will — 
as  I  shall — as  I  will " 

"  Shall,"  said  Gertrude. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  ?  " 

• "  Shall/'  repeated  Gertrude.     "  Did  you  ever  study 
the  doctrine  of  necessity?  " 

"  The  doctrine  of  necessity?  "  he  said,  bewildered. 

Gertrude  went  to  the  other  side  of  the  table  in  pur- 
suit of  a  ball.     She  now  guessed  what  was  coming, 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

and  was  willing  that  it  should  come;  not  because  she 
intended  to  accept,  but  because,  like  other  young 
ladies  experienced  in  such  scenes,  she  counted  the  pro- 
posals of  marriage  she  received  as  a  Eed  Indian  counts 
the  scalps  he  takes. 

"  We  have  had  a  very  pleasant  time  of  it  here,"  he 
said,  giving  up  as  inexplicable  the  relevance  of  the 
doctrine  of  necessity.     "  At  least,  I  have." 

"Well,"  said  Gertrude,  quick  to  resent  a  fancied 
allusion  to  her  private  discontent,  "  so  have  I." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that — more  so  than  I  can  convey  by 
words." 

"  Is  it  any  business  of  yours?  "  she  said,  following 
the  disagreeable  vein  he  had  unconsciously  struck 
upon,  and  suspecting  pity  in  his  efforts  to  be  sympa- 
thetic. 

"I  wish  I  dared  hope  so.  The  happiness  of  my 
visit  has  been  due  to  you  entirely." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Gertrude,  wincing  as  all  the  hard 
things  Trefusis  had  told  her  of  herself  came  into  her 
mind  at  the  heels  of  Erskine's  unfortunate  allusion 
to  her  power  of  enjoying  herself. 

"  I  hope  I  am  not  paining  you,"  he  said  earnestly. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about,"  she 
said,  standing  erect  with  sudden  impatience.  "  You 
seem  to  think  that  it  is  very  easy  to  pain  me." 

"  No,"  he  said  timidly,  puzzled  by  the  effect  he  had 
produced.  "  I  fear  you  misunderstand  me.  I  am 
very  awkward.    Perhaps  I  had  better  say  no  more." 

Gertrude,  by  turning  away  to  put  up  her  cue,  sig- 
270 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

nified  that  that  was  a  point  for  him  to  consider;  she 
not  intending  to  trouble  herself  about  it.  When  she 
faced  him  again,  he  was  motionless  and  dejected,  with 
a  wistful  expression  like  that  of  a  dog  that  has  prof- 
fered a  caress  and  received  a  kick.  Eemorse,  and  a 
vague  sense  that  there  was  something  base  in  her  atti- 
tude towards  him,  overcame  her.  She  looked  at  him 
for  an  instant  and  left  the  room. 

The  look  excited  him.  He  did  not  understand  it, 
nor  attempt  to  understand  it;  but  it  was  a  look  that 
he  had  never  before  seen  in  her  face  or  in  that  of  any 
other  woman.  It  struck  him  as  a  momentary  revela- 
tion of  what  he  had  written  of  in  "  The  Patriot 
Martyrs"  as 

"  The  glorious  mystery  of  a  woman's  heart/' 

and  it  made  him  feel  unfit  for  ordinary  social  inter- 
course. He  hastened  from  the  house,  walked  swiftly 
down  the  avenue  to  the  lodge,  where  he  kept  his  bi- 
cycle, left  word  there  that  he  was  going  for  an  ex- 
cursion and  should  probably  not  return  in  time  for 
dinner,  mounted,  and  sped  away  recklessly  along  the 
Riverside  Eoad.  In  less  than  two  minutes  he  passed 
the  gate  of  Sallust's  House,  where  he  nearly  ran  over 
an  old  woman  laden  with  a  basket  of  coals,  who  put 
down  her  burthen  to  scream  curses  after  him. 
"Warned  by  this  that  his  headlong  pace  was  dangerous, 
he  slackened  it  a  little,  and  presently  saw  Trefusis 
lying  prone  on  the  river  bank,  with  his  cheeks  propped 
271 


.  An  Unsocial  Socialist 

on  his  elbows,  reading  intently.  Erskine,  who  had 
presented  him,  a  few  days  before,  with  a  copy  of  "  The 
Patriot  Martyrs  and  other  Poems,"  tried  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  the  book  over  which  Trefusis  was  so  seri- 
ous. It  was  a  Blue  Book,  full  of  figures.  Erskine 
rode  on  in  disgust,  consoling  himself  with  the  recol- 
lection of  Gertrude's  face. 

The  highway  now  swerved  inland  from  the  river, 
and  rose  to  a  steep  acclivity,  at  the  brow  of  which  he 
turned  and  looked  back.  The  light  was  growing 
ruddy,  and  the  shadows  were  lengthening.  Trefusis 
was  still  prostrate  in  the  meadow,  and  the  old  woman 
was  in  a  field,  gathering  hemlock. 

Erskine  raced  down  the  hill  at  full  speed,  and  did 
not  look  behind  him  again  until  he  found  himself  at 
nightfall  on  the  skirts  of  a  town,  where  he  purchased 
some  beer  and  a  sandwich,  which  he  ate  with  little 
appetite.  Gertrude  had  set  up  a  disturbance  within 
him  which  made  him  impatient  of  eating. 

It  was  now  dark.  He  was  many  miles  from  Bran- 
don Beeches,  and  not  sure  of  the  way  back.  Sud- 
denly he  resolved  to  complete  his  unfinished  declara- 
tion that  evening.  He  now  could  not  ride  back  fast 
enough  to  satisfy  his  impatience.  He  tried  a  short 
cut,  lost  himself,  spent  nearly  an  hour  seeking  the 
highroad,  and  at  last  came  upon  a  railway  station  just 
in  time  to  catch  a  train  that  brought  him  within  a 
mile  of  his  destination. 

When  he  rose  from  the  cushions  of  the  railway- 
carriage  he  found  himself  somewhat  fatigued,  and  he 
272 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

mounted  the  bicycle  stiffly.  But  his  resolution  was 
as  ardent  as  ever,  and  his  heart  beat  strongly  as,  after 
leaving  his  bicycle  at  the  lodge,  he  walked  up  the 
avenue  through  the  deep  gloom  beneath  the  beeches. 
Near  the  house,  the  first  notes  of  "  Crudel  perche 
finora  "  reached  him,  and  he  stepped  softly  on  to  the 
turf  lest  his  footsteps  on  the  gravel  should  rouse  the 
dogs  and  make  them  mar  the  harmony  by  barking. 
A  rustle  made  him  stop  and  listen.  Then  Gertrude's 
voice  whispered  through  the  darkness: 

"What  did  you  mean  by  what  you  said  to  me 
within?" 

An  extraordinary  sensation  shook  Erskine;  con- 
fused ideas  of  fairyland  ran  through  his  imagination. 
A  bitter  disappointment,  like  that  of  waking  from 
a  happy  dream,  followed  as  Trefusis's  voice,  more 
finely  tuned  than  he  had  ever  heard  it  before,  an- 
swered, 

"  Merely  that  the  expanse  of  stars  above  us  is  not 
more  illimitable  than  my  contempt  for  Miss  Lindsay, 
nor  brighter  than  my  hopes  of  Gertrude." 

"Miss  Lindsay  always  to  you,  if  you  please,  Mr. 
Trefusis." 

"  Miss  Lindsay  never  to  me,  but  only  to  those  who 
cannot  see  through  her  to  the  soul  within,  which  is 
Gertrude.  There  are  a  thousand  Miss  Lindsays  in 
the  world,  formal  and  false.  There  is  but  one  Ger- 
trude." 

"  I  am  an  unprotected  girl,  Mr.  Trefusis,  and  you 
can  call  me  what  you  please." 
18  273 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

It  occurred  to  Erskine  that  this  was  a  fit  occasion 
to  rush  forward  and  give  Trefusis,  whose  figure  he 
could  now  dimly  discern,  a  black  eye.  But  he  hesi- 
tated, and  the  opportunity  passed. 

"Unprotected!^^  said  Trefusis.  "Why,  you  are 
fenced  round  and  barred  in  with  conventions,  laws, 
and  lies  that  would  frighten  the  truth  from  the  lips 
of  any  man  whose  faith  in  Gertrude  was  less  strong 
than  mine.  Go  to  Sir  Charles  and  tell  him  what  I 
have  said  to  Miss  Lindsay,  and  within  ten  minutes  I 
shall  have  passed  these  gates  with  a  warning  never  to 
approach  them  again.  I  am  in  your  power,  and  were 
I  in  Miss  Lindsay's  power  alone,  my  shrift  would  be 
short.  Happily,  Gertrude,  though  she  sees  as  yet  but 
darkly,  feels  that  Miss  Lindsay  is  her  bitterest  foe." 

"  It  is  ridiculous.  I  am  not  two  persons;  I  am  only 
one.  What  does  it  matter  to  me  if  your  contempt 
for  me  is  as  illimitable  as  the  stars?  " 

"Ah,  you  remember  that,  do  you?  Whenever  you 
hear  a  man  talking  about  the  stars  you  may  conclude 
that  he  is  either  an  astronomer  or  a  fool.  But  you 
and  a  fine  starry  night  would  make  a  fool  of  any  man." 

"  I  don't  understand  you.  I  try  to,  but  I  cannot; 
or,  if  I  guess,  I  cannot  tell  whether  you  are  in  earnest 
or  not." 

"  I  am  very  much  in  earnest.  Abandon  at  once  and 
for  ever  all  misgivings  that  I  am  trifling  with  you,  or 
passing  an  idle  hour  as  men  do  when  they  find  them- 
selves in  the  company  of  beautiful  women.  I  mean 
what  I  say  literally,  and  in  the  deepest  sense.    You 

274 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

doubt  me;  we  have  brought  society  to  such  a  state  that 
we  all  suspect  one  another.  But  whatever  is  true  will 
command  belief  sooner  or  later  from  those  who  have 
wit  enough  to  comprehend  truth.  Now  let  me  recall 
Miss  Lindsay  to  consciousness  by  remarking  that  we 
have  been  out  for  ten  minutes,  and  that  our  hostess 
is  not  the  woman  to  allow  our  absence  to  pass  without 
comment." 

*^  Let  us  go  in.     Thank  you  for  reminding  me." 

"  Thank  you  for  forgetting." 

Erskine  heard  their  footsteps  retreating,  and  pres- 
ently saw  the  two  enter  the  glow  of  light  that 
shone  from  the  open  window  of  the  billiard  room, 
through  which  they  went  indoors.  Trefusis,  a  man 
whom  he  had  seen  that  day  in  a  beautiful  landscape, 
blind  to  everything  except  a  row  of  figures  in  a  Blue 
Book,  was  his  successful  rival,  although  it  was  plain 
from  the  very  sound  of  his  voice  that  he  did  not — 
could  not — love  Gertrude.  Only  a  poet  could  do  that. 
Trefusis  was  no  poet,  but  a  sordid  brute  unlikely  to 
inspire  interest  in  anything  more  human  than  a  pub- 
lic meeting,  much  less  in  a  woman,  much  less  again 
in  a  woman  so  ethereal  as  Gertrude.  She  was  proud 
too,  yet  she  had  allowed  the  fellow  to  insult  her — had 
forgiven  him  for  the  sake  of  a  few  broad  compliments. 
Erskine  grew  angry  and  cynical.  The  situation  did 
not  suit  his  poetry.  Instead  of  being  stricken  to  the 
heart  with  a  solemn  sorrow,  as  a  Patriot  Martjrr  would 
have  been  under  similar  circumstances,  he  felt 
slighted  and  ridiculous.     He  was  hardly  convinced  of 

275 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

what  had  seemed  at  first  the  most  obvious  feature  of 
the  case,  Trefusis's  inferiority  to  himself. 

He  stood  under  the  trees  until  Trefusis  reappeared 
on  his  way  home,  making,  Erskine  thought,  as  much 
noise  with  his  heels  on  the  gravel  as  a  regiment  of 
delicately  bred  men  would  have  done.  He  stopped 
for  a  moment  to  make  inquiry  at  the  lodge  as  he  went 
out;  then  his  footsteps  died  away  in  the  distance. 

Erskine,  chilled,  stiff,  and  with  a  sensation  of  a  bad 
cold  coming  on,  went  into  the  house,  and  was  relieved 
to  find  that  Gertrude  had  retired,  and  that  Lady  Bran- 
don, though  she  had  been  sure  that  he  had  ridden  into 
the  river  in  the  dark,  had  nevertheless  provided  a 
warm  supper  for  him. 


276 


CHAPTER   XV 

Erskixe  soon  found  plenty  of  themes  for  his  newly 
begotten  cynicism.  Gertrude's  manner  towards  him 
softened  so  much  that  he,  believing  her  heart  given 
to  his  rival,  concluded  that  she  was  tempting  him  to 
make  a  proposal  which  she  had  no  intention  of  accept- 
ing. Sir  Charles,  to  whom  he  told  what  he  had  over- 
heard in  the  avenue,  professed  sympathy,  but  was  evi- 
dently pleased  to  learn  that  there  was  nothing  serious 
in  the  attentions  Trefusis  paid  to  Agatha.  Erskine 
wrote  three  bitter  sonnets  on  hollow  friendship  and 
showed  them  to  Sir  Charles,  who,  failing  to  apply 
them  to  himself,  praised  them  highly  and  showed 
them  to  Trefusis  without  asking  the  author's  permis- 
sion. Trefusis  remarked  that  in  a  corrupt  society 
expressions  of  dissatisfaction  were  always  creditable 
to  a  writer's  sensibility;  but  he  did  not  say  much  in 
praise  of  the  verse. 

"Why  has  he  taken  to  writing  in  this  vein?"  he 
said.  "  Has  he  been  disappointed  in  any  way  of  late? 
Has  he  proposed  to  Miss  Lindsay  and  been  rejected?  " 

"No,"  said  Sir  Charles,  surprised  by  this  blunt 
reference  to  a  subject  they  had  never  before  discussed. 
"  He  does  not  intend  to  propose  to  Miss  Lindsay." 

"  But  he  did  intend  to." 

277 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

''  He  certainly  did,  but  he  has  given  up  the  idea." 

"Why?"  said  Trefusis,  apparently  disapproving 
strongly  of  the  renunciation. 

Sir  Charles  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  did  not 
reply. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  it.  I  wish  you  could  induce 
him  to  change  his  mind.  He  is  a  nice  fellow,  with 
enough  to  live  on  comfortably,  whilst  he  is  yet  what 
is  called  a  poor  man,  so  that  she  could  feel  perfectly 
disinterested  in  marrying  him.  It  will  do  her  good 
to  marry  without  making  a  pecuniary  profit  by  it;  she 
will  respect  herself  the  more  afterwards,  and  will 
neither  want  bread  and  butter  nor  be  ashamed  of  her 
husband's  origin,  in  spite  of  having  married  for  love 
alone.  Make  a  match  of  it  if  you  can.  I  take  an 
interest  in  the  girl;  she  has  good  instincts." 

Sir  Charles's  suspicion  that  Trefusis  was  really  pay- 
ing court  to  Agatha  returned  after  this  conversation, 
which  he  repeated  to  Erskine,  who,  much  annoyed 
because  his  poems  had  been  shown  to  a  reader  of  Blue 
Books,  thought  it  only  a  blind  for  Trefusis's  design 
upon  Gertrude.  Sir  Charles  pooh-poohed  this  view, 
and  the  two  friends  were  sharp  with  one  another  in 
discussing  it.  After  dinner,  when  the  ladies  had  left 
them,  Sir  Charles,  repentant  and  cordial,  urged  Ers- 
Icine  to  speak  to  Gertrude  without  troubling  himself 
as  to  the  sincerity  of  Trefusis.  But  Erskine,  knowing 
himself  ill  able  to  brook  a  refusal,  was  loth  to  expose 
himself  to  one. 

"  If  you  had  heard  the  tone  of  her  voice  when  she 
278 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

asked  him  whether  he  was  in  earnest,  you  would  not 
talk  to  me  like  this,"  he  said  despondently.  "  I  wish 
he  had  never  come  here." 

"  Well,  that,  at  least,  was  no  fault  of  mine,  my  dear 
fellow,"  said  Sir  Charles.  "  He  came  among  us 
against  my  will.  And  now  that  he  appears  to  have 
heen  in  the  right — legally — about  the  field,  it  would 
look  like  spite  if  I  cut  him.  Besides,  he  really  isn't 
a  bad  man  if  he  would  only  let  the  women  alone." 

"  If  he  trifles  with  Miss  Lindsay,  I  shall  ask  him  to 
cross  the  Channel,  and  have  a  shot  at  him." 

"  I  don't  think  he'd  go,"  said  Sir  Charles  dubiously. 
"  If  I  were  you,  I  would  try  my  luck  with  Gertrude  at 
once.  In  spite  of  what  you  heard,  I  don't  believe  she 
would  marry  a  man  of  his  origin.  His  money  gives 
him  an  advantage,  certainly,  but  Qertrude  has  sent 
richer  men  to  the  rightabout." 

"  Let  the  fellow  have  fair  play,"  said  Erskine.  "  I 
may  be  wrong,  of  course;  all  men  are  liable  to  err  in 
judging  themselves,  but  I  think  I  could  make  her 
happier  than  he  can." 

Sir  Charles  was  not  so  sure  of  that,  but  he  cheer- 
fully responded,  "  Certainly.  He  is  not  the  man  for 
her  at  all,  and  you  are.     He  knows  it,  too." 

'^  Hmf ! "  muttered  Erskine,  rising  dejectedly. 
"Let's  go  upstairs." 

"  By-the-bye,  we  are  to  call  on  him  to-morrow,  to 
go  through  his  house,  and  his  collection  of  photo- 
graphs.   Photographs!    Ha,  ha! " 

"Damn  his  house!  "  said  Erskine. 
279 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

Next  day  they  went  together  to  Sallust's  House. 
It  stood  in  the  midst  of  an  acre  of  land,  waste  except 
a  little  kitchen  garden  at  the  rear.  The  lodge  at  the 
entrance  was  uninhabited,  and  the  gates  stood  open, 
with  dust  and  fallen  leaves  heaped  up  against  them. 
Free  ingress  had  thus  been  afforded  to  two  stray 
ponies,  a  goat,  and  a  tramp,  who  lay  asleep  in  the 
grass.     His  wife  sat  near,  watching  him. 

"I  have  a  mind  to  turn  back,"  said  Sir  Charles, 
looking  about  him  in  disgust.  "  The  place  is  scan- 
dalously neglected.  Look  at  that  rascal  asleep  within 
full  view  of  the  windows." 

"  I  admire  his  cheek,"  said  Erskine.  "  Nice  pair 
of  ponies,  too." 

Sallust's  House  was  square  and  painted  cinnamon 
color.  Beneath  the  cornice  was  a  yellow  frieze  with 
figures  of  dancing  children,  imitated  from  the  works 
of  Donatello,  and  very  unskilfully  executed.  There 
was  a  meagre  portico  of  four  columns,  painted  red, 
and  a  plain  pediment,  painted  yellow.  The  colors, 
meant  to  match  those  of  the  walls,  contrasted  dis- 
agreeably with  them,  having  been  applied  more  re- 
cently, apparently  by  a  color-blind  artist.  The  door 
beneath  the  portico  stood  open.  Sir  Charles  rang  the 
bell,  and  an  elderly  woman  answered  it;  but  before 
they  could  address  her,  Trefusis  appeared,  clad  in  a 
painter's  jacket  of  white  jean.  Following  him  in, 
they  found  that  the  house  was  a  hollow  square,  enclos- 
ing a  courtyard  with  a  bath  sunk  in  the  middle,  and  a 
fountain  in  the  centre  of  the  bath.     The  courtyard, 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

formerly  open  to  the  sky,  was  now  roofed  in  with 
dusty  glass;  the  nymph  that  had  once  poured  out  the 
water  of  the  fountain  was  barren  and  mutilated;  and 
the  bath  was  partly  covered  in  with  loose  boards,  the 
exposed  part  accommodating  a  heap  of  coals  in  one 
corner,  a  heap  of  potatoes  in  another,  a  beer  barrel, 
some  old  carpets,  a  tarpaulin,  and  a  broken  canoe. 
The  marble  pavement  extended  to  the  outer  walls  of 
the  house,  and  was  roofed  in  at  the  sides  by  the  upper 
stories,  which  were  supported  by  fluted  stone  columns, 
much  stained  and  chipped.  The  staircase,  towards 
which  Trefusis  led  his  visitors,  was  a  broad  one  at  the 
end  opposite  the  door,  and  gave  access  to  a  gallery 
leading  to  the  upper  rooms. 

"  This  house  was  built  in  1780  by  an  ancestor  of 
my  mother,"  said  Trefusis.  "  He  passed  for  a  man 
of  exquisite  taste.  He  wished  the  place  to  be  main- 
tained forever — he  actually  used  that  expression  in 
his  will — as  the  family  seat,  and  he  collected  a  fine 
library  here,  which  I  found  useful,  as  all  the  books 
came  into  my  hands  in  good  condition,  most  of  them 
with  the  leaves  uncut.  Some  people  prize  uncut 
copies  of  old  editions;  a  dealer  gave  me  three  hundred 
and  fifty  pounds  for  a  lot  of  them.  I  came  into  pos- 
session of  a  number  of  family  fetishes — heirlooms,  as 
they  are  called.  There  was  a  sword  that  one  of  my 
forbears  wore  at  Edgehill  and  other  battles  in  Charles 
the  First's  time.  We  fought  on  the  wrong  side,  of 
course,  but  the  sword  fetched  thirty-five  shillings 
nevertheless.  You  will  hardly  believe  that  I  was  of- 
281 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

fered  one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  for  a  gold  cup 
worth  about  twenty-five,  merely  because  Queen  Eliza- 
beth once  drank  from  it.  This  is  my  study.  It  was 
designed  for  a  banqueting  hall." 

They  entered  a  room  as  long  as  the  wall  of  the 
house,  pierced  on  one  side  by  four  tall  windows,  be- 
tween which  square  pillars,  with  Corinthian  capitals 
supporting  the  cornice,  were  half  sunk  in  the  wall. 
There  were  similar  pillars  on  the  opposite  side,  but 
between  them,  instead  of  windows,  were  arched  niches 
in  which  stood  life-size  plaster  statues,  chipped, 
broken,  and  defaced  in  an  extraordinary  fashion. 
The  flooring,  of  diagonally  set  narrow  boards,  was 
uncarpeted  and  unpolished.  The  ceiling  was  adorned 
with  frescoes,  which  at  once  excited  Sir  Charles's  in- 
terest, and  he  noted  with  indignation  that  a  large  por- 
tion of  the  painting  at  the  northern  end  had  been 
destroyed  and  some  glass  roofing  inserted.  In  an- 
other place  bolts  had  been  driven  in  to  support  the 
ropes  of  a  trapeze  and  a  few  other  pieces  of  g3minastic 
apparatus.  The  walls  were  whitewashed,  and  at  about 
four  feet  from  the  ground  a  dark  band  appeared,  pro- 
duced by  pencil  memoranda  and  little  sketches  scrib- 
bled on  the  whitewash.  One  end  of  the  apartment 
was  unfurnished,  except  by  the  gymnastic  apparatus, 
a  photographer's  camera,  a  ladder  in  the  corner,  and  a 
common  deal  table  with  oil  cans  and  paint  pots  upon 
it.  At  the  other  end  a  comparatively  luxurious  show 
was  made  by  a  large  bookcase,  an  elaborate  combina- 
tion of  bureau  and  writing  desk,  a  rack  with  a  rifle,  a 
382 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

set  of  foils,  and  an  umbrella  in  it,  several  folio  albums 
on  a  table,  some  comfortable  chairs  and  sofas,  and  a 
thick  carpet  under  foot.  Close  by,  and  seeming  much 
out  of  place,  was  a  carpenter's  bench  with  the  usual 
implements  and  a  number  of  boards  of  various  thick- 
nesses. 

"  This  is  a  sort  of  comfort  beyond  the  reach  of  any 
but  a  rich  man,"  said  Trefusis,  turning  and  surprising 
his  visitors  in  the  act  of  exchanging  glances  of  aston- 
ishment at  his  taste.  "  I  keep  a  drawing-room  of  the 
usual  kind  for  receiving  strangers  with  whom  it  is 
necessary  to  be  conventional,  but  I  never  enter  it 
except  on  such  occasions.  What  do  you  think  of  this 
for  a  study?" 

"  On  my  soul,  Trefusis,  I  think  you  are  mad,"  said 
Sir  Charles.  "  The  place  looks  as  if  it  had  stood  a 
siege.  How  did  you  manage  to  break  the  statues  and 
chip  the  walls  so  outrageously?  " 

Trefusis  took  a  newspaper  from  the  table  and  said, 
"  Listen  to  this: 

*  In  spite  of  the  unfavorable  nature  of  the  weather, 
the  sport  of  the  Emperor  and  his  guests  in  Styria  has 
been  successful.  In  three  days  52  chamois  and  79 
stags  and  deer  fell  to  19  single-barrelled  rifles,  the 
Emperor  allowing  no  more  on  this  occasion.' 

"  I  share  the  Emperor's  delight  in  shooting,  but  I 
am  no  butcher,  and  do  not  need  the  royal  relish  of 
blood  to  my  sport.     And  I  do  not  share  my  ancestor's 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

taste  in  statuary.     Hence "  Here  Trefusis  opened 

a  drawer,  took  out  a  pistol,  and  fired  at  the  Hebe  in 
the  farthest  niche. 

^^  Well  done!  '^  said  Erskine  coolly,  as  the  last  frag- 
ment of  Hebe's  head  crumbled  at  the  touch  of  the 
bullet. 

"  Very  fruitlessly  done,"  said  Trefusis.  "  I  am  a 
good  shot,  but  of  what  use  is  it  to  me?  None.  I 
once  met  a  gamekeeper  who  was  a  Methodist.  He 
was  a  most  eloquent  speaker,  but  a  bad  shot.  If  he 
could  have  swapped  talents  with  me  I  would  have 
given  him  ten  thousand  pounds  to  boot  willingly,  al- 
though he  would  have  profited  as  much  as  I  .by  the 
exchange  alone.  I  have  no  more  desire  or  need  to 
be  a  good  shot  than  to  be  king  of  England,  or  owner 
of  a  Derby  winner,  or  anything  else  equally  ridiculous, 
and  yet  I  never  missed  my  aim  in  my  life — thank 
blind  fortune  for  nothing!  " 

''  King  of  England!  "  said  Erskine,  with  a  scornful 
laugh,  to  show  Trefusis  that  other  people  were  as  lib- 
erty-loving as  he.  "  Is  it  not  absurd  to  hear  a  nation 
boasting  of  its  freedom  and  tolerating  a  king?  " 

'^  Oh,  hang  your  republicanism,  Chester!  "  said  Sir 
Charles,  who  privately  held  a  low  opinion  of  the  politi- 
cal side  of  the  Patriot  Martyrs. 

"  I  won't  be  put  down  on  that  point,"  said  Erskine. 
*'  I  admire  a  man  that  kills  a  king.  You  will  agree 
with  me  there,  Trefusis,  won't  you?  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Trefusis.  "  A  king  nowa- 
days is  only  a  dummy  put  up  to  draw  your  fire  off  the 

284 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

real  oppressors  of  society,  and  the  fraction  of  his  salary 
that  he  can  spend  as  he  likes  is  usually  far  too  small 
for  his  risk,  his  trouble,  and  the  condition  of  personal 
slavery  to  which  he  is  reduced.  What  private  man  in 
England  is  worse  off  than  the  constitutional  monarch? 
We  deny  him  all  privacy;  he  may  not  marry  whom  he 
chooses,  consort  with  whom  he  prefers,  dress  accord- 
ing to  his  taste,  or  live  where  he  pleases.  I  don't  be- 
lieve he  may  even  eat  or  drink  what  he  likes  best;  a 
taste  for  tripe  and  onions  on  his  part  would  provoke 
a  remonstrance  from  the  Privy  Council.  We  dictate 
everything  except  his  thoughts  and  dreams,  and  even 
these  he  must  keep  to  himself  if  they  are  not  suitable, 
in  our  opinion,  to  his  condition.  The  work  we  impose 
on  him  has  all  the  hardship  of  mere  task  work;  it  is 
unfruitful,  incessant,  monotonous,  and  has  to  be 
transacted  for  the  most  part  with  nervous  bores.  We 
make  his  kingdom  a  treadmill  to  him,  and  drive  him 
to  and  fro  on  the  face  of  it.  Finally,  having  taken 
everything  else  that  men  prize  from  him,  we  fall  upon 
his  character,  and  that  of  every  person  to  whom  he 
ventures  to  show  favor.  We  impose  enormous  ex- 
penses on  him,  stint  him,  and  then  rail  at  his  parsi- 
mony. We  use  him  as  I  use  those  statues — stick  him 
up  in  the  place  of  honor  for  our  greater  convenience 
in  disfiguring  and  abusing  him.  We  send  him  forth 
through  our  crowded  cities,  proclaiming  that  he  is  the 
source  of  all  good  and  evil  in  the  nation,  and  he,  know- 
ing that  many  people  believe  it,  knowing  that  it  is 
a  lie,  and  that  he  is  powerless  to  shorten  the  working 

385 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

day  by  one  hour,  raise  wages  one  penny,  or  annul  the 
smallest  criminal  sentence,  however  unjust  it  may 
seem  to  him;  knowing  that  every  miner  in  the  king- 
dom can  manufacture  dynamite,  and  that  revolvers 
are  sold  for  seven  and  sixpence  apiece;  knowing  that 
he  is  not  bullet  proof,  and  that  every  king  in  Europe 
has  been  shot  at  in  the  streets;  he  must  smile  and  bow 
and  maintain  an  expression  of  gracious  enjoyment 
whilst  the  mayor  and  corporation  inflict  upon  him  the 
twaddling  address  he  has  heard  a  thousand  times  be- 
fore. I  do  not  ask  you  to  be  loyal,  Erskine;  but  I 
expect  you,  in  common  humanity,  to  sympathize  with 
the  chief  figure  in  the  pageant,  who  is  no  more  ac- 
countable for  the  manifold  evils  and  abominations 
that  exist  in  his  realm  than  the  Lord  Mayor  is  ac- 
countable for  the  thefts  of  the  pickpockets  who  fol- 
low his  show  on  the  ninth  of  November." 

Sir  Charles  laughed  at  the  trouble  Trefusis  took  to 
prove  his  case,  and  said  soothingly,  "  My  dear  fellow, 
kings  are  used  to  it,  and  expect  it,  and  like  it." 

"  And  probably  do  not  see  themselves  as  I  see  them, 
any  more  than  common  people  do,"  assented  Trefusis. 

"  What  an  exquisite  face!  "  exclaimed  Erskine  sud- 
denly, catching  sight  of  a  photograph  in  a  rich  gold 
and  coral  frame  on  a  miniature  easel  draped  with  ruby 
velvet.  Trefusis  turned  quickly,  so  evidently  grati- 
fied that  Sir  Charles  hastened  to  say,  "  Charming! " 
Then,  looking  at  the  portrait,  he  added,  as  if  a  little 
startled,  ^'  It  certainly  is  an  extraordinarily  attractive 
face." 

289 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"  Years  ago/'  said  Tref usis,  "  when  I  saw  that  face 
for  the  first  time,  I  felt  as  you  feel  now." 

Silence  ensued,  the  two  visitors  looking  at  the  por- 
trait, Trefusis  looking  at  them. 

"  Curious  style  of  beauty,"  said  Sir  Charles  at  last, 
not  quite  so  assuredly  as  before. 

Trefusis  laughed  unpleasantly.  "  Do  you  recog- 
nize the  artist — the  enthusiastic  amateur — in  her?  " 
he  said,  opening  another  drawer  and  taking  out  a 
bundle  of  drawings,  which  he  handed  to  be  examined. 

"  Very  clever.  Very  clever  indeed,"  said  Sir 
Charles.     ^^  I  should  like  to  meet  the  lady." 

"  I  have  often  been  on  the  point  of  burning  them," 
said  Trefusis;  "  but  there  they  are,  and  there  they  are 
likely  to  remain.  The  portrait  has  been  much  ad- 
mired." 

"  Can  you  give  us  an  introduction  to  the  original, 
old  fellow?  "  said  Erskine. 

"  No,  happily.     She  is  dead." 

Disagreeably  shocked,  they  looked  at  him  for  a 
moment  with  aversion.  Then  Erskine,  turning  with 
pity  and  disappointment  to  the  picture,  said,  "  Poor 
girl!     Was  she  married?  " 

"  Yes.     To  me." 

"Mrs.  Trefusis!"  exclaimed  Sir  Charles.  "Ah! 
Dear  me! " 

Erskine,  with  proof  before  him  that  it  was  possi- 
ble for  a  beautiful  girl  to  accept  Trefusis,  said 
nothing. 

"  I  keep  her  portrait  constantly  before  me  to  correct 
287 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

my  natural  amativeness.  I  fell  in  love  with  her  and 
married  her.  I  have  fallen  in  love  once  or  twice  since; 
but  a  glance  at  my  lost  Hetty  has  cured  me  of  the 
slightest  inclination  to  marry/' 

Sir  Charles  did  not  reply.  It  occurred  to  him  that 
Lady  Brandon's  portrait,  if  nothing  else  were  left  of 
her,  might  be  useful  in  the  same  way. 

"  Come,  you  will  marry  again  one  of  these  days," 
said  Erskine,  in  a  forced  tone  of  encouragement. 

"  It  is  possible.  Men  should  marry,  especially  rich 
men.  But  I  assure  you  I  have  no  present  intention  of 
doing  so." 

Erskine's  color  deepened,  and  he  moved  away  to  the 
table  where  the  albums  lay. 

"  This  is  the  collection  of  photographs  I  spoke  of," 
said  Trefusis,  following  him  and  opening  one  of  the 
books.  "I  took  many  of  them  myself  under  great 
difficulties  with  regard  to  light — the  only  difficulty 
that  money  could  not  always  remove.  This  is  a  view 
of  my  father's  house — or  rather  one  of  his  houses.  It 
cost  seventy-five  thousand  pounds." 

"  Yery  handsome  indeed,"  said  Sir  Charles,  secretly 
disgusted  at  being  invited  to  admire  a  photograph, 
such  as  house  agents  exhibit,  of  a  vulgarly  designed 
country  house,  merely  because  it  had  cost  seventy- 
five  thousand  pounds.  The  figures  were  actually 
written  beneath  the  picture. 

"  This  is  the  drawing-room,  and  this  one  of  the 
best  bedrooms.  In  the  right-hand  corner  of  the 
mount  you  will  see  a  note  of  the  cost  of  the  furniture, 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

fittings,  napery,  and  so  forth.  They  were  of  the  most 
luxurious  description." 

"Very  interesting,"  said  Sir  Charles,  hardly  dis- 
guising the  irony  of  the  comment. 

"  Here  is  a  view — this  is  the  first  of  my  own  at- 
tempts— of  the  apartment  of  one  of  the  under  ser- 
vants. It  is  comfortable  and  spacious,  and  solidly 
furnished." 

"  So  I  perceive." 

"  These  are  the  stables.     Are  they  not  handsome?  " 

"  Palatial.     Quite  palatial." 

"  There  is  every  luxury  that  a  horse  could  desire, 
including  plenty  of  valets  to  wait  on  him.  You  are 
noting  the  figures,  I  hope.  There  is  the  cost  of  the 
building  and  the  expenditure  per  horse  per  annum." 

"  I  see." 

"  Here  is  the  exterior  of  a  house.  What  do  you 
think  of  it?" 

"  It  is  rather  picturesque  in  its  dilapidation." 

"  Picturesque!     Would  you  like  to  live  in  it?  " 

"  No,"  said  Erskine.  "  I  don't  see  anything  very 
picturesque  about  it.  What  induced  you  to  photo- 
graph such  a  wretched  old  rookery?  " 

"  Here  is  a  view  of  the  best  room  in  it.  Photog- 
raphy gives  you  a  fair  idea  of  the  broken  flooring  and 
patched  windows,  but  you  must  imagine  the  dirt  and 
the  odor  of  the  place.  Some  of  the  stains  are  weather 
stains,  others  came  from  smoke  and  filth.  The  land- 
lord of  the  house  holds  it  from  a  peer  and  lets  it  out 
in  tenements.  Three  families  occupied  that  room 
19  289 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

when  I  photographed  it.  You  will  see  by  the  figures 
in  the  corner  that  it  is  more  profitable  to  the  landlord 
than  an  average  house  in  Mayf air.  Here  is  the  cellar, 
let  to  a  family  for  one  and  sixpence  a  week,  and  con- 
sidered a  bargain.  The  sun  never  shines  there,  of 
course.  I  took  it  by  artificial  light.  You  may  add  to 
the  rent  the  cost  of  enough  bad  beer  to  make  the  ten- 
ant insensible  to  the  filth  of  the  place.  Beer  is  the 
chloroform  that  enables  the  laborer  to  endure  the 
severe  operation  of  living;  that  is  why  we  can  always 
assure  one  another  over  our  wine  that  the  rascal's 
misery  is  due  to  his  habit  of  drinking.  We  are  down 
on  him  for  it,  because,  if  he  could  bear  his  life  without 
beer,  we  should  save  his  beer-money — get  him  for 
lower  wages.  In  short,  we  should  be  richer  and  he 
soberer.  Here  is  the  yard;  the  arrangements  are  in- 
describable. Seven  of  the  inhabitants  of  that  house 
had  worked  for  years  in  my  father's  mill.  That  is, 
they  had  created  a  considerable  part  of  the  vast  sums 
of  money  for  drawing  your  attention  to  which  you 
were  disgusted  with  me  just  now." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Sir  Charles  faintly. 

"You  can  see  how  their  condition  contrasts  with 
that  of  my  father's  horses.  The  seven  men  to  whom 
I  have  alluded,  with  three  hundred  others,  were 
thrown  destitute  upon  the  streets  by  this."  (Here  he 
turned  over  a  leaf  and  displayed  a  photograph  of  an 
elaborate  machine.)  "It  enabled  my  father  to  dis- 
pense with  their  services,  and  to  replace  them  by  a 
handful  of  women  and  children.  He  had  bought  the 
1390 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

patent  of  the  machine  for  fifty  pounds  from  the  in- 
ventor, who  was  almost  mined  by  the  expenses  of  his 
ingenuity,  and  would  have  sacrificed  anything  for  a 
handful  of  ready  money.  Here  is  a  portrait  of  my 
father  in  his  masonic  insignia.  He  believed  that 
freemasons  generally  get  on  in  the  world,  and  as  the 
main  object  of  his  life  was  to  get  on,  he  joined  them, 
and  wanted  me  to  do  the  same.  But  I  object  to  pre- 
tended secret  societies  and  hocus  pocus,  and  would 
not.  You  see  what  he  was — a  portly,  pushing,  egotis- 
tical tradesman.  Mark  the  successful  man,  the  mer- 
chant prince  with  argosies  on  every  sea,  the  employer 
of  thousands  of  hands,  the  munificent  contributor  to 
public  charities,  the  churchwarden,  the  member  of 
parliament,  and  the  generous  patron  of  his  relatives; 
his  self-approbation  struggling  with  the  instinctive 
sense  of  baseness  in  the  money-hunter,  the  ignorant 
and  greedy  filcher  of  the  labor  of  others,  the  seller  of 
his  own  mind  and  manhood  for  luxuries  and  delicacies 
that  he  was  too  lowlived  to  enjoy,  and  for  the  society 
of  people  who  made  him  feel  his  inferiority  at  every 
turn '' 

"  And  the  man  to  whom  you  owe  everything  you 
possess,"  said  Erskine  boldly. 

"  I  possess  very  little.  Everything  he  left  me,  ex- 
cept a  few  pictures,  I  spent  long  ago,  and  even  that 
was  made  by  his  slaves  and  not  by  him.  My  wealth 
comes  day  by  day  fresh  from  the  labor  of  the  wretches 
who  live  in  the  dens  I  have  just  shown  you,  or  of  a 
few  aristocrats  of  labor  who  are  within  ten  shillings  a 
291 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

week  of  being  worse  off.  However,  there  is  some 
excuse  for  my  father.  Once,  at  an  election  riot,  I  got 
into  a  free  fight.  I  am  a  peaceful  man,  but  as  I  had 
either  to  fight  or  be  knocked  down  and  trampled  upon, 
I  exchanged  blows  with  men  who  were  perhaps  as 
peacefully  disposed  as  I.  My  father,  launched  into 
a  free  competition  (free  in  the  sense  that  the  fight  is 
free:  that  is,  lawless) — my  father  had  to  choose  be- 
tween being  a  slave  himself  and  enslaving  others.  He 
chose  the  latter,  and  as  he  was  applauded  and  made 
much  of  for  succeeding,  who  dare  blame  him?  Not 
I.  Besides,  he  did  something  to  destroy  the  anarchy 
that  enabled  him  to  plunder  society  with  impunity. 
He  furnished  me,  its  enemy,  with  the  powerful  weapon 
of  a  large  fortune.  Thus  our  system  of  organizing 
industry  sometimes  hatches  the  eggs  from  which  its 
destroyers  break.  Does  Lady  Brandon  wear  much 
lace?'' 

"I No;  that  is How  the  deuce  do  I 

know,  Trefusis?     What  an  extraordinary  question!  " 

"  This  is  a  photograph  of  a  lace  school.  It  was  a 
filthy  room,  twelve  feet  square.  It  was  paved  with 
brick,  and  the  children  were  not  allowed  to  wear  their 
boots,  lest  the  lace  should  get  muddy.  However,  as 
there  were  twenty  of  them  working  there  for  fifteen 
hours  a  day — all  girls — they  did  not  suffer  much  from 
cold.  They  were  pretty  tightly  packed — ^may  be  still, 
for  aught  I  know.  They  brought  three  or  four  shil- 
lings a  week  sometimes  to  their  fond  parents;  and  they 
were  very  quick-fingered  little  creatures,  and  stuck 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

intensely  to  their  work,  as  the  overseer  always  hit 
them  when  they  looked  up  or " 

"  Trefusis,"  said  Sir  Charles,  turning  away  from 
the  table,  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  I  have  no  appetite 
for  horrors.  You  really  must  not  ask  me  to  go 
through  your  collection.  It  is  no  doubt  very  interest- 
ing, but  I  can't  stand  it.  Have  you  nothing  pleasant 
to  entertain  me  with?  " 

"  Pooh!  you  are  squeamish.  However,  as  you  are 
a  novice,  let  us  put  off  the  rest  until  you  are  seasoned. 
The  pictures  are  not  all  horrible.  Each  book  refers 
to  a  different  country.  That  one  contains  illustra- 
tions of  modern  civilization  in  Germany,  for  instance. 
That  one  is  France;  that,  British  India.  Here  you 
have  the  United  States  of  America,  home  of  liberty, 
theatre  of  manhood  suffrage,  kingless  and  lordless 
land  of  Protection,  Republicanism,  and  the  realized 
Eadical  Programme,  where  all  the  black  chattel  slaves 
were  turned  into  wage-slaves  (like  my  father's  white 
fellows)  at  a  cost  of  800,000  lives  and  wealth  incal- 
culable. You  and  I  are  paupers  in  comparison  with 
the  great  capitalists  of  that  country,  where  the  labor- 
ers fight  for  bones  with  the  Chinamen,  like  dogs. 
Some  of  these  great  men  presented  me  with  photo- 
graphs of  their  yachts  and  palaces,  not  anticipating 
the  use  to  which  I  would  put  them.  Here  are  some 
portraits  that  will  not  harrow  your  feelings.  This  is 
my  mother,  a  woman  of  good  family,  every  inch  a  lady. 
Here  is  a  Lancashire  lass,  the  daughter  of  a  common 
pitman.   She  has  exactly  the  same  physical  character- 

293 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

istics  as  my  well-born  mother — the  same  small  head, 
delicate  features,  and  so  forth;  they  might  be  sisters. 
This  villainous-looking  pair  might  be  twin  brothers, 
except  that  there  is  a  trace  of  good  humor  about  the 
one  to  the  right.  The  good-humored  one  is  a  bargee  on 
the  Lyvem  Canal.  The  other  is  one  of  the  senior  noble- 
men of  the  British  Peerage.  They  illustrate  the  fact 
that  Nature,  even  when  perverted  by  generations  of 
famine  fever,  ignores  the  distinctions  we  set  up  be- 
tween men.  This  group  of  men  and  women,  all  toler- 
ably intelligent  and  thoughtful  looking,  are  so-called 
enemies  of  society — Nihilists,  Anarchists,  Commu- 
nards, members  of  the  International,  and  so  on.  These 
other  poor  devils,  worried,  stiff,  strumous^  awkward, 
vapid,  and  rather  coarse,  with  here  and  there  a  pass- 
ably pretty  woman,  are  European  kings,  queens, 
grand-dukes,  and  the  like.  Here  are  ship-captains, 
criminals,  poets,  men  of  science,  peers,  peasants,  polit- 
ical economists,  and  representatives  of  dozens  of  de- 
grees. The  object  of  the  collection  is  to  illustrate  the 
natural  inequality  of  man,  and  the  failure  of  our  arti- 
ficial inequality  to  correspond  with  it." 

"  It  seems  to  me  a  sort  of  infernal  collection  for  the 
upsetting  of  people's  ideas,"  said  Erskine.  "  You 
ought  to  label  it  '  A  Portfolio  of  Paradoxes.' " 

"  In  a  rational  state  of  society  they  would  be  para- 
doxes; but  now  the  time  gives  them  proof — like  Ham- 
let's paradox.  It  is,  however,  a  collection  of  facts; 
and  I  will  give  no  fanciful  name  to  it.  You  dislike 
figures,  don't  you?  " 

294 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"  Unless  they  are  by  Phidias,  yes." 

"  Here  are  a  few,  not  by  Phidias.  This  is  the  bal- 
ance sheet  of  an  attempt  I  made  some  years  ago  to 
carry  out  the  idea  of  an  International  Association  of 
Laborers — commonly  known  as  The  International — or 
union  of  all  workmen  throughout  the  world  in  defence 
of  the  interests  of  labor.  You  see  the  result.  Ex^~7* 
penditure,  four  thousand  five  hundred  pounds.  Sub-, 
scriptions  received  from  working-men,  twenty-two 
pounds  seven  and  ten  pence  halfpenny.  The  British 
workmen  showed  their  sense  of  my  efforts  to  eman- 
cipate them  by  accusing  me  of  making  a  good  thing 
out  of  the  Association  for  my  own  pocket,  and  by 
mobbing  and  stoning  me  twice.  I  now  help  them 
only  when  they  show  some  disposition  to  help  them- 
selves. I  occupy  myself  partly  in  working  out  a 
scheme  for  the  reorganization  of  industry,  and  partly 
in  attacking  my  own  class,  women  and  all,  as  I  am 
attacking  you."  J 

*'  There  is  little  use  in  attacking  us,  I  fear,"  said  Sir 
Charles. 

"Great  use,"  said  Trefusis  confidently.  "You 
have  a  very  different  opinion  of  our  boasted  civiliza- 
tion now  from  that  which  you  held  when  I  broke  your 
wall  down  and  invited  those  Land  Nationalization 
zealots  to  march  across  your  pleasure  ground.  You 
have  seen  in  my  album  something  you  had  not  seen 
an  hour  ago,  and  you  are  consequently  not  quite  the 
same  man  you  were  an  hour  ago.  My  pictures  stick 
in  the  mind  longer  than  your  scratchy  etchings,  or  the 
295 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

leaden  things  in  which  you  fancy  you  see  tender  har- 
monies in  gray.  Erskine's  next  drama  may  be  about 
liberty,  but  its  Patriot  Martyrs  will  have  something 
better  to  do  than  spout  balderdash  against  figure-head 
kings  who  in  all  their  lives  never  secretly  plotted  as 
much  dastardly  meanness,  greed,  cruelty,  and  tyranny 
as  is  openly  voted  for  in  London  by  every  half-yearly 
meeting  of  dividend-consuming  vermin  whose  miser- 
able wage-slaves  drudge  sixteen  hours  out  of  the 
twenty-four." 

'^  What  is  going  to  be  the  end  of  it  all?  "  said  Sir 
Charles,  a  little  dazed. 

"  Socialism  or  Smash.  Socialism  if  the  race  has  at 
last  evolved  the  faculty  of  coordinating  the  functions 
of  a  society  too  crowded  and  complex  to  be  worked  any 
longer  on  the  old  haphazard  private-property  system. 
Unless  we  reorganize  our  society  socialistically — hu- 
manly a  most  arduous  and  magnificent  enterprise, 
economically  a  most  simple  and  sound  one — Free 
Trade  by  itself  will  ruin  England,  and  I  will  tell  you 
exactly  how.  When  my  father  made  his  fortune  we 
had  the  start  of  all  other  nations  in  the  organization 
of  our  industry  and  in  our  access  to  iron  and  coal. 
Other  nations  bought  our  products  for  less  than  they 
must  have  spent  to  raise  them  at  home,  and  yet  for 
so  much  more  than  they  cost  us,  that  profits  rolled  in 
Atlantic  waves  upon  our  capitalists.  When  the  work- 
ers, by  their  trades-unions,  demanded  a  share  of  the 
luck  in  the  form  of  advanced  wages,  it  paid  better  to 
give  them  the  little  they  dared  to  ask  than  to  stop 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

gold-gathering  to  fight  and  crush  them.  But  now  our 
customers  have  set  up  in  their  own  countries  improved 
copies  of  our  industrial  organization,  and  have  dis- 
covered places  where  iron  and  coal  are  even  handier 
than  they  are  by  this  time  in  England.  They  produce 
for  themselves,  or  buy  elsewhere,  what  they  formerly 
bought  from  us.  Our  profits  are  vanishing,  our  ma- 
chinery is  standing  idle,  our  workmen  are  locked  out. 
It  pays  now  to  stop  the  mills  and  fight  and  crush  the 
unions  when  the  men  strike,  no  longer  for  an  advance, 
but  against  a  reduction.  Now  that  these  unions  are 
beaten,  helpless,  and  drifting  to  bankruptcy  as  the 
proportion  of  unemployed  men  in  their  ranks  becomes 
greater,  they  are  being  petted  and  made  much  of  by 
our  class;  an  infallible  sign  that  they  are  making  no 
further  progress  in  their  duty  of  destroying  us.  The 
small  capitalists  are  left  stranded  by  the  ebb;  the  big 
ones  will  follow  the  tide  across  the  water,  and  rebuild 
their  factories  where  steam  power,  water  power,  labor 
power,  and  transport  are  now  cheaper  than  in  Eng- 
land, where  they  used  to  be  cheapest.  The  workers 
will  emigrate  in  pursuit  of  the  factory,  but  they  will 
multiply  faster  than  they  emigrate,  and  be  told  that 
their  own  exorbitant  demand  for  wages  is  driving 
capital  abroad,  and  must  continue  to  do  so  whilst 
there  is  a  Ohinaman  or  a  Hindoo  unemployed  to 
underbid  them.  As  the  British  factories  are  shut  up, 
they  will  be  replaced  by  villas;  the  manufacturing  dis- 
tricts will  become  fashionable  resorts  for  capitalists 
living  on  the  interest  of  foreign  investments;  the 

297 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

farms  and  sheep  runs  will  be  cleared  for  deer  forests. 
All  products  that  can  in  the  nature  of  things  be  manu- 
factured elsewhere  than  where  they  are  consumed  will 
be  imported  in  payment  of  deer-forest  rents  from 
foreign  sportsmen,  or  of  dividends  due  to  shareholders 
resident  in  England,  but  holding  shares  in  companies 
abroad,  and  these  imports  will  not  be  paid  for  by  ex- 
ports, because  rent  and  interest  are  not  paid  for  at  all 
— a  fact  which  the  Free  Traders  do  not  yet  see,  or  at 
any  rate  do  not  mention,  although  it  is  the  key  to  the 
whole  mystery  of  their  opponents.  The  cry  for  Pro- 
tection will  become  wild,  but  no  one  will  dare  resort 
to  a  demonstrably  absurd  measure  that  must  raise 
prices  before  it  raises  wages,  and  that  has  everywhere 
failed  to  benefit  the  worker.  There  will  be  no  em- 
ployment for  anyone  except  in  doing  things  that  must 
be  done  on  the  spot,  such  as  impacking  and  distribut- 
ing the  imports,  ministering  to  the  proprietors  as  do- 
mestic servants,  or  by  acting,  preaching,  paving,  light- 
ing, housebuilding,  and  the  rest;  and  some  of  these,  as 
the  capitalist  comes  to  regard  ostentation  as  vulgar, 
and  to  enjoy  a  simpler  life,  will  employ  fewer  and 
fewer  people.  A  vast  proletariat,  beginning  with  a 
nucleus  of  those  formerly  employed  in  export  trades, 
with  their  multiplying  progeny,  will  be  out  of  em- 
ployment permanently.  They  will  demand  access  to 
the  land  and  machinery  to  produce  for  themselves. 
They  will  be  refused.  They  will  break  a  few  windows 
and  be  dispersed  with  a  warning  to  their  leaders. 
They  will  burn  a  few  houses  and  murder  a  policeman 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

or  two,  and  then  an  example  will  be  made  of  the 
warned.  They  will  revolt,  and  be  shot  down  with 
machine  guns — emigrated — exterminated  anyhow  and 
everyhow;  for  the  proprietary  classes  have  no  idea  of 
any  other  means  of  dealing  with  the  full  claims  of 
labor.  You  yourself,  though  you  would  give  fifty 
pounds  to  Jansenius's  emigration  fund  readily 
enough,  would  call  for  the  police,  the  military,  and 
the  Eiot  Act,  if  the  people  came  to  Brandon  Beeches 
and  bade  you  turn  out  and  work  for  your  living  with 
the  rest.  Well,  the  superfluous  proletariat  destroyed, 
there  will  remain  a  population  of  capitalists  living  on 
gratuitous  imports  and  served  by  a  disaffected  retinue. 
One  day  the  gratuitous  imports  will  stop  in  conse- 
quence of  the  occurrence  abroad  of  revolution  and 
repudiation,  fall  in  the  rate  of  interest,  purchase  of 
industries  by  governments  for  lump  sums,  not  rein- 
vestable,  or  what  not.  Our  capitalist  community  is 
then  thrown  on  the  remains  of  the  last  dividend, 
which  it  consumes  long  before  it  can  rehabilitate  its 
extinct  machinery  of  production  in  order  to  support 
itself  with  its  own  hands.  Horses,  dogs,  cats,  rats, 
blackberries,  mushrooms,  and  cannibalism  only  post- 
pone  " 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!"  shouted  Sir  Charles.  "On  my 
honor,  I  thought  you  were  serious  at  first,  Trefusis. 
Come,  confess,  old  chap;  it's  all  a  fad  of  yours.  I  half 
suspected  you  of  being  a  bit  of  a  crank."  And  he 
winked  at  Erskine. 

"  What  I  have  described  to  you  is  the  inevitable  out- 
299 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

come  of  our  present  Free  Trade  policy  without  So- 
cialism. The  theory  of  Free  Trade  is  only  applicable 
to  systems  of  exchange,  not  to  systems  of  spoliation. 
Our  system  is  one  of  spoliation,  and  if  we  don't  aban- 
don it,  we  must  either  return  to  Protection  or  go  to 
smash  by  the  road  I  have  just  mapped.  Now,  sooner 
than  let  the  Protectionists  triumph,  the  Cobden  Club 
itself  would  blow  the  gaff  and  point  out  to  the  work- 
ers that  Protection  only  means  compelling  the  pro- 
prietors of  England  to  employ  slaves  resident  in  Eng- 
land and  therefore  presumably — though  by  no  means 
necessarily — Englishmen.  This  would  open  the  eyes 
of  the  nation  at  last  to  the  fact  that  England  is  not 
their  property.  Once  let  them  understand  that  and 
they  would  soon  make  it  so.  When  England  is  made 
the  property  of  its  inhabitants  collectively,  England 
becomes  socialistic.  Artificial  inequality  will  vanish 
then  before  real  freedom  of  contract;  freedom  of  com- 
petition, or  unhampered  emulation,  will  keep  us  mov- 
ing ahead;  and  Free  Trade  will  fulfil  its  promises  at 
last." 

"And  the  idlers  and  loafers,"  said  Erskine.  "  What 
of  them?" 

"  You  and  I,  in  fact,"  said  Trefusis,  "  die  of 
starvation,  I  suppose,  unless  we  choose  to  work,  or  un- 
less they  give  us  a  little  out-door  relief  in  considera- 
tion of  our  bad  bringing-up." 

"Do  you  mean  that  they  will  plunder  us?"  said 
Sir  Charles. 

"I  mean  that  they  will  make  us  stop  plundering 
300 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

them.  If  they  hesitate  to  strip  us  naked,  or  to  cut 
our  throats  if  we  offer  them  the  smallest  resistance, 
they  will  show  us  more  mercy  than  we  ever  showed 
them.  Consider  what  we  have  done  to  get  our  rents 
in  Ireland  and  Scotland,  and  our  dividends  in  Egypt, 
if  you  have  already  forgotten  my  photographs  and 
their  lesson  in  our  atrocities  at  home.  Why,  man,  we 
murder  the  great  mass  of  these  toilers  with  overwork 
and  hardship;  their  average  lifetime  is  not  half  as  long 
as  ours.  Human  nature  is  the  same  in  them  as  in  us. 
If  we  resist  them,  and  succeed  in  restoring  order,  as 
we  call  it,  we  will  punish  them  mercilessly  for  their 
insubordination,  as  we  did  in  Paris  in  1871,  where, 
by-the-bye,  we  taught  them  the  folly  of  giving  their 
enemies  quarter.  If  they  beat  us,  we  shall  catch  it, 
and  serve  us  right.  Far  better  turn  honest  at  once 
and  avert  bloodshed.     Eh,  Erskine?  " 

Erskine  was  considering  what  reply  he  should  make, 
when  Trefusis  disconcerted  him  by  ringing  a  bell. 
Presently  the  elderly  woman  appeared,  pushing  be- 
fore her  an  oblong  table  mounted  on  wheels,  like  a 
barrow. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Trefusis,  and  dismissed  her. 
"  Here  is  some  good  wine,  some  good  water,  some  good 
fruit,  and  some  good  bread.  I  know  that  you  cling 
to  wine  as  to  a  good  familiar  creature.  As  for  me,  I 
make  no  distinction  between  it  and  other  vegetable 
poisons.  I  abstain  from  them  all.  Water  for  serenity, 
wine  for  excitement.  I,  having  boiling  springs  of 
excitement  within  myself,  am  never  at  a  loss  for  it, 
301 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

and  have  only  to  seek  serenity.  However  "  (here  he 
drew  a  cork),  ^^a  generous  goblet  of  this  will  make 
you  feel  like  gods  for  half  an  hour  at  least.  Shall  we 
drink  to  your  conversion  to  Socialism?" 

Sir  Charles  shook  his  head. 

"  Come,  Mr.  Donovan  Brown,  the  great  artist,  is 
a  Socialist,  and  why  should  not  you  be  one?" 

"  Donovan  Brown!  "  exclaimed  Sir  Charles  with  in- 
terest. "  Is  it  possible  ?  Do  you  know  him  per- 
sonally? " 

"  Here  are  several  letters  from  him.  You  may  read 
them;  the  mere  autograph  of  such  a  man  is  in- 
teresting." 

Sir  Charles  took  the  letters  and  read  them  earnestly, 
Erskine  reading  over  his  shoulder. 

"I  most  cordially  agree  with  everything  he  says 
here,"  said  Sir  Charles.     '^  It  is  quite  true,  quite  true." 

"  Of  course  you  agree  with  us.  Donovan  Brown's 
eminence  as  an  artist  has  gained  me  one  recruit,  and 
yours  as  a  baronet  will  gain  me  some  more." 

«  But " 

"But  what?"  said  Trefusis,  deftly  opening  one  of 
the  albums  at  a  photograph  of  a  loathsome  room. 
"  You  are  against  that,  are  you  not?  Donovan  Brown 
is  against  it,  and  I  am  against  it.  You  may  disagree 
with  us  in  everything  else,  but  there  you  are  at  one 
with  us.     Is  it  not  so  ?  " 

"  But  that  may  be  the  result  of  drunkenness,  im- 
providence, or " 

"  My  father's  income  was  fifty  times  as  great  as  that 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

of  Donovan  Brown.  Do  you  believe  that  Donovan 
Brown  is  fifty  times  as  drunken  and  improvident  as 
my  father  was?" 

"  Certainly  not.  I  do  not  deny  that  there  is  much 
in  what  you  urge.  Still,  you  ask  me  to  take  a  rather 
important  step." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  I  don't  ask  you  to  subscribe  to, 
join,  or  in  any  way  pledge  yourself  to  any  society  or 
conspiracy  whatsoever.  I  only  want  your  name  for 
private  mention  to  cowards  who  think  Socialism  right, 
but  will  not  say  so  because  they  do  not  think  it  re- 
spectable. They  will  not  be  ashamed  of  their  convic- 
tions when  they  learn  that  a  baronet  shares  them. 
Socialism  offers  you  something  already,  you  see;  a 
good  use  for  your  hitherto  useless  title." 

Sir  Charles  colored  a  little,  conscious  that  the  ex- 
ample of  his  favorite  painter  had  influenced  him  more 
than  his  own  conviction  or  the  arguments  of  Trefusis. 

"What  do  you  think,  Chester?"  he  said.  "Will 
you  join?" 

"  Erskine  is  already  committed  to  the  cause  of  lib- 
erty by  his  published  writings,"  said  Trefusis.  "Three 
of  the  pamphlets  on  that  shelf  contain  quotations 
from  '  The  Patriot  Martyrs.'  " 

Erskine  blushed,  flattered  by  being  quoted;  an  at- 
tention that  had  been  shown  him  only  once  before, 
and  then  by  a  reviewer  with  the  object  of  proving 
that  the  Patriot  Martyrs  were  slovenly  in  their 
grammar. 

"  Come!  "  said  Trefusis.     "  Shall  I  write  to  Dono- 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

van  Brown  that  his  letters  have  gained  the^  cordial 
assent  and  sympathy  of  Sir  Charles  Brandon?  " 

"  Certainly,  certainly.  That  is,  if  my  unknown 
name  would  be  of  the  least  interest  to  him." 

"  Good/'  said  Trefusis,  filling  his  glass  with  water. 
"Erskine,  let  us  drink  to  our  brother  Social  Demo- 
crat." 

Erskine  laughed  loudly,  but  not  heartily.  "  What 
an  ass  you  are,  Brandon!"  he  said.  "You,  with  a 
large  landed  estate,  and  bags  of  gold  invested  in  rail- 
ways, calling  yourself  a  Social  Democrat!  Are  you 
going  to  sell  out  and  distribute — to  sell  all  that  thou 
hast  and  give  to  the  poor?  " 

"  Not  a  penny,"  replied  Tref usis  for  him  promptly. 
"  A  man  cannot  be  a  Christian  in  this  country.  I  have 
tried  it  and  found  it  impossible  both  in  law  and  in 
fact.  I  am  a  capitalist  and  a  landholder.  I  have 
railway  shares,  mining  shares,  building  shares,  bank 
shares,  and  stock  of  most  kinds;  and  a  great  trouble 
they  are  to  me.  But  these  shares  do  not  represent 
wealth  actually  in  existence;  they  are  a  mortgage  on 
the  labor  of  unborn  generations  of  laborers,  who  must 
work  to  keep  me  and  mine  in  idleness  and  luxury.  If 
I  sold  them,  would  the  mortgage  be  cancelled  and  the 
unborn  generations  released  from  its  thrall  ?  No.  It 
would  only  pass  into  the  hands  of  some  other  capital- 
ist, and  the  working  class  would  be  no  better  off  for 
my  self-sacrifice.  Sir  Charles  cannot  obey  the  com- 
mand of  Christ;  I  defy  him  to  do  it.  Let  him  give  his 
land  for  a  public  park;  only  the  richer  classes  will  have 

304 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

leisure  to  enjoy  it.     Plant  it  at  the  very  doors  of  the 
poor,  so  that  they  may  at  last  breathe  its  air,  and  it 
will  raise  the  value  of  the  neighboring  houses  and 
drive  the  poor  away.     Let  him  endow  a  school  for  the 
poor,  like  Eton  or  Christ's  Hospital,  and  the  rich  will 
take  it  for  their  own  children  as  they  do  in  the  two    ; 
instances  I  have  named.     Sir  Charles  does  not  want  | 
to  minister  to  poverty,  but  to  abolish  it.     No  matter 
how  much  you  give  to  the  poor,  everything  except  a 
bare  subsistence  wage  will  be  taken  from  them  again 
by  force.    All  talk  of  practising  Christianity,  or  even     ; 
bare  justice,  is  at  present  mere  waste  of  words.     How     j 
can  you  justly  reward  the  laborer  when  you  cannot    / 
ascertain  the  value  of  what  he  makes,  owing  to  the    ! 
prevalent  custom  of  stealing  it?     I  know  this  by  ex- 
perience.   I  wanted  to  pay  a  just  price  for  my  wife's 
tomb,  but  I  could  not  find  out  its  value,  and  never 
shall.     The  principle  on  which  we  farm  out  our  na- 
tional industry  to  private  marauders,  who  recompense 
themselves  by  black-mail,  so  corrupts  and  paralyzes 
us  that  we  cannot  be  honest  even  when  we  want  to. 
And  the  reason  we  bear  it  so  calmly  is  that  very  few  of 
us  really  want  to."  f, 

"  I  must  study  this  question  of  value,"  said  Sir 
Charles  dubiously,  refilling  his  goblet.  "  Can  you  rec- 
ommend me  a  good  book  on  the  subject?  "  I 

"  Any  good  treatise  on  political  economy  will  do,"  { 
said  Trefusis.     "In  economics  all  roads  lead  to  So- 
cialism, although  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  so  far,  the 
economist  doesn't  recognize  his  destination,  and  in- 
20  805 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

curs  the  malediction  pronounced  by  Jeremiah  on 
those  who  justify  the  wicked  for  reward.  I  will  look 
you  out  a  book  or  two.  And  if  you  will  call  on  Dono- 
van Brown  the  next  time  you  are  in  London,  he  will 
be  delighted,  I  know.  He  meets  with  very  few  who 
are  capable  of  sympathizing  with  him  from  both  his 
points  of  view — social  and  artistic." 

Sir  Charles  brightened  on  being  reminded  of  Dono- 
van Brown.  "  I  shall  esteem  an  introduction  to  him 
a  great  honor/'  he  said.  "  I  had  no  idea  that  he  was 
a  friend  of  yours.'' 

"  I  was  a  very  practical  young  Socialist  when  I  first 
met  him,"  said  Trefusis.  "  When  Brown  was  an  un- 
known and  wretchedly  poor  man,  my  mother,  at  the 
petition  of  a  friend  of  his,  charitably  bought  one  of 
his  pictures  for  thirty  pounds,  which  he  was  very  glad 
to  get.  Years  afterwards,  when  my  mother  was  dead, 
and  Brown  famous,  I  was  offered  eight  hundred 
pounds  for  this  picture,  which  was,  by-the-bye,  a  very 
bad  one  in  my  opinion.  Now,  after  making  the  usual 
unjust  allowance  for  interest  on  thirty  pounds  for 
twelve  years  or  so  that  had  elapsed,  the  sale  of  the 
picture  would  have  brought  me  in  a  profit  of  over 
seven  hundred  and  fifty  pounds,  an  unearned  incre- 
ment to  which  I  had  no  righteous  claim.  My  solici- 
tor, to  whom  I  mentioned  the  matter,  was  of  opinion 
that  I  might  justifiably  pocket  the  seven  hundred  and 
fifty  pounds  as  reward  for  my  mother's  benevolence 
in  buying  a  presumably  worthless  picture  from  an  ob- 
scure painter.  But  he  failed  to  convince  me  that  I 
306 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

ought  to  be  paid  for  my  mother's  virtues,  though  we 
agreed  that  neither  I  nor  my  mother  had  received  any 
return  in  the  shape  of  pleasure  in  contemplating  the 
work,  which  had  deteriorated  considerably  by  the  fad- 
ing of  the  colors  since  its  purchase.  At  last  I  went 
to  Brown's  studio  with  the  picture,  and  told  him  that 
it  was  worth  nothing  to  me,  as  I  thought  it  a  particu- 
larly bad  one,  and  that  he  might  have  it  back  again 
for  fifteen  pounds,  half  the  first  price.  He  at  once 
told  me  that  I  could  get  from  any  dealer  more  for  it 
than  he  could  afford  to  give  me;  but  he  told  me  too 
that  I  had  no  right  to  make  a  profit  out  of  his  work, 
and  that  he  would  give  me  the  original  price  of  thirty 
pounds.  I  took  it,  and  then  sent  him  the  man  who 
had  offered  me  the  eight  hundred.  To  my  discom- 
fiture Brown  refused  to  sell  it  on  any  terms,  because  he 
considered  it  unworthy  of  his  reputation.  The  man 
bid  up  to  fifteen  hundred,  but  Brown  held  out;  and 
I  found  that  instead  of  putting  seven  hundred  and 
seventy  pounds  into  his  pocket  I  had  taken  thirty  out 
of  it.  I  accordingly  offered  to  return  the  thirty 
pieces.  Brown,  taking  the  offer  as  an  insult,  declined 
all  further  communication  with  me".  I  then  insisted 
on  the  matter  being  submitted  to  arbitration,  and  de- 
manded fifteen  hundred  pounds  as  the  full  exchange 
value  of  the  picture.  All  the  arbitrators  agreed  that 
this  was  monstrous,  whereupon  I  contended  that  if 
they  denied  my  right  to  the  value  in  exchange,  they 
must  admit  my  right  to  the  value  in  use.  They  as- 
sented to  this  after  putting  off  their  decision  for  a 
307 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

fortnight  in  order  to  read  Adam  Smith  and  discover 
what  on  earth  I  meant  by  my  values  in  use  and  ex- 
change. I  now  showed  that  the  picture  had  no  value 
in  use  to  me,  as  I  disliked  it,  and  that  therefore  I  was 
entitled  to  nothing,  and  that  Brown  must  take  back 
the  thirty  pounds.  They  were  glad  to  concede  this 
also  to  me,  as  they  were  all  artist  friends  of  Brown, 
and  wished  him  not  to  lose  money  by  the  transaction, 
though  they  of  course  privately  thought  that  the  pic- 
ture was,  as  I  described  it,  a  bad  one.  After  that 
Brown  and  I  became  very  good  friends.  He  tolerated 
my  advances,  at  first  lest  it  should  seem  that  he  was 
annoyed  by  my  disparagement  of  his  work.  Subse- 
quently he  fell  into  my  views  much  as  you  have  done." 

^'That  is  very  interesting,"  said  Sir  Charles. 
"What  a  noble  thing — refusing  fifteen  hundred 
pounds!     He  could  ill  afford  it,  probably." 

"  Heroic — according  to  nineteenth  century  notions 
of  heroism.  Voluntarily  to  throw  away  a  chance  of 
making  money!  that  is  the  ne  plus  ultra  of  martyr- 
dom. Brown's  wife  was  extremely  angry  with  him 
for  doing  it." 

"  It  is  an  interesting  story — or  might  be  made  so," 
said  Erskine.  "  But  you  make  my  head  spin  with 
your  confounded  exchange  values  and  stuff.  Every- 
thing is  a  question  of  figures  with  you." 

"  That  comes  of  my  not  being  a  poet,"  said  Tre- 
fusis.  "But  we  Socialists  need  to  study  the  ro- 
mantic side  of  our  movement  to  interest  women  in  it. 
If  you  want  to  make  a  cause  grow,  instruct  every 
308 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

woman  you  meet  in  it.  She  is  or  will  one  day  be  a 
wife,  and  will  contradict  her  husband  with  scraps  of 
your  arguments.  A  squabble  will  follow.  The  son 
will  listen,  and  will  be  set  thinking  if  he  be  capable 
of  thought.  And  so  the  mind  of  the  people  gets 
leavened.  I  have  converted  many  young  women. 
Most  of  them  know  no  more  of  the  economic  theory 
of  Socialism  than  they  know  of  Chaldee;  but  they  no 
longer  fear  or  condemn  its  name.  Oh,  I  assure  you 
that  much  can  be  done  in  that  way  by  men  who  are 
not  afraid  of  women,  and  who  are  not  in  too  great  a 
hurry  to  see  the  harvest  they  have  sown  for." 

"  Take  care.  Some  of  your  lady  proselytes  may 
get  the  better  of  you  some  day.  The  future  husband 
to  be  contradicted  may  be  Sidney  Trefusis.  Ha!  ha! 
ha!  "  Sir  Charles  had  emptied  a  second  large  goblet 
of  wine,  and  was  a  little  flushed  and  boisterous. 

"  No,"  said  Trefusis,  "  I  have  had  enough  of  love 
myself,  and  am  not  likely  to  inspire  it.  Women  do 
not  care  for  men  to  whom,  as  Erskine  says,  everything 
is  a  question  of  figures.  I  used  to  flirt  with  women; 
now  I  lecture  them,  and  abhor  a  man-flirt  worse  than 
I  do  a  woman  one.  Some  more  wine?  Oh,  you  must 
not  waste  the  remainder  of  this  bottle." 

"  I  think  we  had  better  go,  Brandon,"  said  Erskine, 
his  mistrust  of  Trefusis  growing.  "  We  promised  to 
be  back  before  two." 

"  So  you  shall,"  said  Trefusis.  "  It  is  not  yet  a 
quarter  past  one.  By-the-bye,  I  have  not  shown  you 
Donovan  Brown's  pet  instrument  for  the  regeneration 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

of  society.  Here  it  is.  A  monster  petition  praying 
that  the  holding  back  from  the  laborer  of  any  portion 
of  the  net  value  produced  by  his  labor  be  declared  a 
felony.     That  is  all." 

Erskine  nudged  Sir  Charles,  who  said  hastily, 
"  Thank  you,  but  I  had  rather  not  sign  anything." 

"  A  baronet  sign  such  a  petition!  "  exclaimed  Tre- 
fusis.  "  I  did  not  think  of  asking  you.  I  only  show 
it  to  you  as  an  interesting  historical  document,  con- 
taining the  autographs  of  a  few  artists  and  poets. 
There  is  Donovan  Brown's  for  example.  It  was  he 
who  suggested  the  petition,  which  is  not  likely  to  do 
much  good,  as  the  thing  cannot  be  done  in  any  such 
fashion.  However,  I  have  promised  Brown  to  get  as 
many  signatures  as  I  can;  so  you  may  as  well  sign  it, 
Erskine.  It  says  nothing  in  blank  verse  about  the 
holiness  of  slaying  a  tyrant,  but  it  is  a  step  in  the 
right  direction.  You  will  not  stick  at  such  a  trifle — 
unless  the  reviews  have  frightened  you.  Come,  your 
name  and  address." 

Erskine  shook  his  head. 

"Do  you  then  only  commit  yourself  to  revolu- 
tionary sentiments  when  there  is  a  chance  of  winning 
fame  as  a  poet  by  them?  " 

"  I  will  not  sign,  simply  because  I  do  not  choose  to," 
said  Erskine  warmly. 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  said  Trefusis,  almost  affection- 
ately, "  if  a  man  has  a  conscience  he  can  have  no 
choice  in  matters  of  conviction.  I  have  read  some- 
where in  your  book  that  the  man  who  will  not  shed 
310 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

his  blood  for  the  liberty  of  his  brothers  is  a  coward 
and  a  slave.  Will  you  not  shed  a  drop  of  ink — my 
ink,  too — for  the  right  of  your  brothers  to  the  work 
of  their  hands?  I  at  first  sight  did  not  care  to  sign 
this  petition,  because  I  would  as  soon  petition  a  tiger 
to  share  his  prey  with  me  as  our  rulers  to  relax  their 
grip  of  the  stolen  labor  they  live  on.  But  Donovan 
Brown  said  to  me,  '  You  have  no  choice.  Either  you 
believe  that  the  laborer  should  have  the  fruit  of  his 
labor  or  you  do  not.  If  you  do,  put  your  conviction 
on  record,  even  if  it  should  be  as  useless  as  Pilate's 
washing  his  hands.'     So  I  signed." 

"  Donovan  Brown  was  right,"  said  Sir  Charles.  "  I 
will  sign."    And  he  did  so  with  a  flourish. 

"  Brown  will  be  delighted,"  said  Trefusis.  "  I  will 
write  to  him  to-day  that  I  have  got  another  good  sig- 
nature for  him." 

"  Two  more,"  said  Sir  Charles.  "  You  shall  sign, 
Erskine;  hang  me  if  you  shan't!  It  is  only  against 
rascals  that  run  away  without  paying  their  men  their 


"  Or  that  don't  pay  them  in  full,"  observed  Tre- 
fusis, with  a  curious  smile.  "  But  do  not  sign  if  you 
feel  uncomfortable  about  it." 

"  If  you  don't  sign  after  me,  you  are  a  sneak,  Ches- 
ter," said  Sir  Charles. 

"  I  don't  know  what  it  means,"  said  Erskine,  waver- 
ing.    "  I  don't  understand  petitions." 

"  It  means  what  it  says;  you  cannot  be  held  respon- 
sible for  any  meaning  that  is  not  expressed  in  it,"  said 

311 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

Trefusis.  "  But  never  mind.  You  mistrust  me  a 
little,  I  fancy,  and  would  rather  not  meddle  with  my 
petitions;  but  you  will  think  better  of  that  as  you 
grow  used  to  me.  Meanwhile,  there  is  no  hurry. 
Don't  sign  yet.'' 

*' Nonsense!  I  don't  doubt  your  good  faith,"  said 
Erskine,  hastily  disavowing  suspicions  which  he  felt 
but  could  not  account  for.  "  Here  goes!  "  And  he 
signed. 

"Well  done!"  said  Trefusis.  "This  will  make 
Brown  happy  for  the  rest  of  the  month." 

"It  is  time  for  us  to  go  now," said  Erskine  gloomily. 

"  Look  in  upon  me  at  any  time;  you  shall  be  wel- 
come," said  Trefusis.  "You  need  not  stand  upon 
any  sort  of  ceremony." 

Then  they  parted;  Sir  Charles  assuring  Trefusis 
that  he  had  never  spent  a  more  interesting  morning, 
and  shaking  hands  with  him  at  considerable  length 
three  times.  Erskine  said  little  until  he  was  in  the 
Eiverside  Eoad  with  his  friend,  when  he  suddenly 
burst  out: 

"  What  the  devil  do  you  mean  by  drinking  two 
tumblers  of  such  staggering  stuff  at  one  o'clock  in  the 
day  in  the  house  of  a  dangerous  man  like  that?  I  am 
very  sorry  I  went  into  the  fellow's  place.  I  had  mis- 
givings about  it,  and  they  have  been  fully  borne  out."' 

"How  so?"  said  Sir  Charles,  taken  aback. 

"  He  has  overreached  us.  I  was  a  deuced  fool  to 
sign  that  paper,  and  so  were  you.  It  was  for  that  that 
he  invited  us." 

312 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"  Rubbish,  my  dear  boy.  It  was  not  his  paper,  but 
Donovan  Brown's." 

"I  doubt  it.  Most  likely  he  talked  Brown  into 
signing  it  just  as  he  talked  us.  I  tell  you  his  ways 
are  all  crooked,  like  his  ideas.  Did  you  hear  how  he 
lied  about  Miss  Lindsay?  " 

"  Oh,  you  were  mistaken  about  that.  He  does  not 
care  two  straws  for  her  or  for  anyone." 

"  Well,  if  you  are  satisfied,  I  am  not.  You  would 
not  be  in  such  high  spirits  over  it  if  you  had  taken  as 
little  wine  as  I." 

"  Pshaw!  you're  too  ridiculous.  It  was  capital  wine. 
Do  you  mean  to  say  I  am  drunk?  " 

"  No.  But  you  would  not  have  signed  if  you  had 
not  taken  that  second  goblet.  If  you  had  not  forced 
me — I  could  not  get  out  of  it  after  you  set  the  example 

— I  would  have  seen  him  d d  sooner  than  have  had 

anything  to  do  with  his  petition." 

"  I  don't  see  what  harm  can  come  of  it,"  said  Sir 
Charles,  braving  out  some  secret  disquietude. 

"  I  will  never  go  into  his  house  again,"  said  Erskine 
moodily.  "  We  were  just  like  two  flies  in  a  spider's 
web." 

Meanwhile,  Trefusis  was  fulfilling  his  promise  to 
write  to  Donovan  Brown. 

"Sallust's  House. 
"  Dear  Brown :  I  have  spent  the  forenoon  angling 
for  a  couple  of  very  young  fish,  and  have  landed  them 
with  more  trouble  than  they  are  worth.     One  has 
813 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

gaudy  scales:  he  is  a  baronet,  and  an  amateur  artist, 
save  the  mark.  All  my  arguments  and  my  little  mu- 
seum of  photographs  were  lost  on  him;  but  when  I 
mentioned  your  name,  and  promised  him  an  introduc- 
tion to  you,  he  gorged  the  bait  greedily.  He  was  half 
drunk  when  he  signed;  and  I  should  not  have  let  him 
touch  the  paper  if  I  had  not  convinced  myself  before- 
hand that  he  means  well,  and  that  my  wine  had  only 
freed  his  natural  generosity  from  his  conventional 
cowardice  and  prejudice.  We  must  get  his  name  pub- 
lished in  as  many  journals  as  possible  as  a  signatory 
to  the  great  petition;  it  will  draw  on  others  as  your 
name  drew  him.  The  second  novice,  Chichester  Ers- 
kine,  is  a  young  poet.  He  will  not  be  of  much  use  to 
us,  though  he  is  a  devoted  champion  of  liberty  in 
blank  verse,  and  dedicates  his  works  to  Mazzini,  etc. 
He  signed  reluctantly.  All  this  hesitation  is  the  un- 
certainty that  comes  of  ignorance; they  have  not  found 
out  the  truth  for  themselves,  and  are  afraid  to  trust 
me,  matters  having  come  to  the  pass  at  which  no  man 
dares  trust  his  fellow. 

"  I  have  met  a  pretty  young  lady  here  who  might 
serve  you  as  a  model  for  Hypatia.  She  is  crammed 
with  all  the  prejudices  of  the  peerage,  but  I  am  effect- 
ing a  cure.  I  have  set  my  heart  on  marrying  her  to 
Erskine,  who,  thinking  that  I  am  making  love  to  her 
on  my  own  account,  is  jealous.  The  weather  is  pleas- 
ant here,  and  I  am  having  a  merry  life  of  it,  but  I  find 
myself  too  idle.     Etc.,  etc.,  etc.'' 


314 


CHAPTER   XVI 

One  sunny  forenoon,  as  Agatha  sat  reading  on  the 
doorstep  of  the  conservatory,  the  shadow  of  her  para- 
sol deepened,  and  she,  looking  up  for  something 
denser  than  the  silk  of  it,  saw  Trefusis. 

"  Oh! " 

She  offered  him  no  further  greeting,  having  fallen 
in  with  his  habit  of  dispensing,  as  far  as  possible,  with 
salutations  and  ceremonies.  He  seemed  in  no  hurry 
to  speak,  and  so,  after  a  pause,  she  began,  "  Sir 
Charles " 

"  Is  gone  to  town,"  he  said.  "  Erskine  is  out  on  his 
bicycle.  Lady  Brandon  and  Miss  Lindsay  have  gone 
to  the  village  in  the  wagonette,  and  you  have  come 
out  here  to  enjoy  the  summer  sun  and  read  rubbish. 
I  know  all  your  news  already." 

"You  are  very  clever,  and,  as  usual,  wrong.  Sir 
Charles  has  not  gone  to  town.  He  has  only  gone  to 
the  railway  station  for  some  papers;  he  will  be  back  for 
luncheon.    How  do  you  know  so  much  of  our  affairs?  " 

"  I  was  on  the  roof  of  my  house  with  a  field-glass. 
I  saw  you  come  out  and  sit  down  here.  Then  Sir 
Charles  passed.  Then  Erskine.  Then  Lady  Bran- 
don, driving  with  great  energy,  and  presenting  a  re- 
315 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

markable  contrast  to  the  disdainful  repose  of  Ger- 
trude." 

"  Gertrude!     I  like  your  cheek." 

"  You  mean  that  you  dislike  my  presumption." 

"No,  I  think  cheek  a  more  expressive  word  than 
presumption;  and  I  mean  that  I  like  it — that  it 
amuses  me." 

"  Eeally!     What  are  you  reading?  " 

"  Eubbish,  you  said  just  now.     A  novel." 

"  That  is,  a  lying  story  of  two  people  who  never 
existed,  and  who  would  have  acted  very  differently  if 
they  had  existed." 

"Just  so." 

"  Could  you  not  imagine  something  just  as  amusing 
for  yourself?" 

"  Perhaps  so;  but  it  would  be  too  much  trouble. 
Besides,  cooking  takes  away  one^s  appetite  for  eating. 
I  should  not  relish  stories  of  my  own  confection." 

"  Which  volume  are  you  at?  " 

"  The  third." 

"  Then  the  hero  and  heroine  are  on  the  point  of 
being  united?" 

"  I  really  don't  know.  This  is  one  of  your  clever 
novels.  I  wish  the  characters  would  not  talk  so 
much." 

"  No  matter.  Two  of  them  are  in  love  with  one 
another,  are  they  not?  " 

"  Yes.     It  would  not  be  a  novel  without  that." 

"Do  you  believe,  in  your  secret  soul,  Agatha — I 
take  the  liberty  of  using  your  Christian  name  because 

816 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

I  wish  to  be  very  solemn — do  you  really  believe  that 
any  human  being  was  ever  unselfish  enough  to  love 
another  in  the  story-book  fashion?  " 

"  Of  course.  At  least  I  suppose  so.  I  have  never 
thought  much  about  it." 

"  I  doubt  it.  My  own  belief  is  that  no  latter-day 
man  has  any  faith  in  the  thoroughness  or  permanence 
of  his  affection  for  his  mate.  Yet  he  does  not  doubt 
the  sincerity  of  her  professions,  and  he  conceals  the 
hollowness  of  his  own  from  her,  partly  because  he 
is  ashamed  of  it,  and  partly  out  of  pity  for  her.  And 
she,  on  the  other  side,  is  playing  exactly  the  same 
comedy." 

"  I  believe  that  is  what  men  do,  but  not  women." 

"  Indeed!  Pray  do  you  remember  pretending  to  be 
very  much  in  love  with  me  once  when " 

Agatha  reddened  and  placed  her  palm  on  the  step 
as  if  about  to  spring  up.  But  she  checked  herself  and 
said:  "  Stop,  Mr,  Trefusis.  If  you  talk  about  that  I 
shall  go  away.    I  wonder  at  you!    Have  you  no  taste?" 

"None  whatever.  And  as  I  was  the  aggrieved 
party  on  that — stay,  don't  go.  I  will  never  allude  to 
it  again.  I  am  growing  afraid  of  you.  You  used  to 
be  afraid  of  me." 

"  Yes;  and  you  used  to  bully  me.  You  have  a  habit 
of  bullying  women  who  are  weak  enough  to  fear  you. 
You  are  a  great  deal  cleverer  than  I,  and  know  much 
more,  I  dare  say;  but  I  am  not  in  the  least  afraid  of 
you  now." 

"You  have  no  reason  to  be,  and  never  had  any. 
317 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

Henrietta,  if  she  were  alive,  could  testify  that  if  there 
is  a  defect  in  my  relations  with  women,  it  arises  from 
my  excessive  amiability.  I  could  not  refuse  a  woman 
anything  she  had  set  her  heart  upon — except  my 
hand  in  marriage.  As  long  as  your  sex  are  content  to 
stop  short  of  that  they  can  do  as  they  please  with  me." 

"  How  cruel!  I  thought  you  were  nearly  engaged 
to  Gertrude." 

"  The  usual  interpretation  of  a  friendship  between 
a  man  and  a  woman!  I  have  never  thought  of  such 
a  thing;  and  I  am  sure  she  never  has.  We  are  not  half 
so  intimate  as  you  and  Sir  Charles." 

"  Oh,  Sir  Charles  is  married.  And  I  advise  you  to 
get  married  if  you  wish  to  avoid  creating  misunder- 
standings by  your  friendships." 

Trefusis  was  struck.  Instead  of  answering,  he 
stood,  after  one  startled  glance  at  her,  looking  in- 
tently at  the  knuckle  of  his  forefinger. 

"  Do  take  pity  on  our  poor  sex,"  said  Agatha  mali- 
ciously. "You  are  so  rich,  and  so  very  clever,  and 
really  so  nice  looking  that  you  ought  to  share  your- 
self with  somebody.  Gertrude  would  be  only  too 
happy." 

Trefusis  grinned  and  shook  his  head,  slowly  but 
emphatically. 

"I  suppose  I  should  have  no  chance,"  continued 
Agatha  pathetically. 

"  I  should  be  delighted,  of  course,"  he  replied  with 
simulated  confusion,  but  with  a  lurking  gleam  in  his 
eye  that  might  have  checked  her,  had  she  noticed  it. 

318 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"  Do  marry  me,  Mr.  Trefusis/'  she  pleaded,  clasping 
her  hands  in  a  rapture  of  mischievous  raillery.  "  Pray 
do.^' 

"  Thank  you/'  said  Trefusis  determinedly;  "I  will." 

"  I  am  very  sure  you  shan't,"  said  Agatha,  after  an 
incredulous  pause,  springing  up  and  gathering  her 
skirt  as  if  to  run  away.  "  You  do  not  suppose  I  was 
in  earnest,  do  you?  " 

"  Undoubtedly  I  do.     I  am  in  earnest." 

Agatha  hesitated,  uncertain  whether  he  might  not 
be  playing  with  her  as  she  had  just  been  playing  with 
him.  "Take  care,"  she  said.  "I  may  change  my 
mind  and  be  in  earnest,  too;  and  then  how  will  you 
feel,  Mr.  Trefusis?  " 

"  I  think,  under  our  altered  relations,  you  had  bet- 
ter call  me  Sidney." 

"  I  think  we  had  better  drop  the  joke.  It  was  in 
rather  bad  taste,  and  I  should  not  have  made  it,  per- 
haps." 

"  It  would  be  an  execrable  joke;  therefore  I  have  no 
intention  of  regarding  it  as  one.  You  shall  be  held  to 
your  offer,  Agatha.     Are  you  in  love  with  me  ?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least.  Not  the  very  smallest  bit  in  the 
world.  I  do  not  know  anybody  with  whom  I  am  less 
in  love  or  less  likely  to  be  in  love." 

"  Then  you  must  marry  me.  If  you  were  in  love 
with  me,  I  should  run  away.  My  sainted  Henrietta 
adored  me,  and  I  proved  unworthy  of  adoration — 
though  I  was  immensely  flattered." 

"  Yes;  exactly!  The  way  you  treated  your  first  wife 
319 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

ought  to  be  sufficient  to  warn  any  woman  against  b^ 
coming  your  second." 

"  Any  woman  who  loved  me,  you  mean.  But  you 
do  not  love  me,  and  if  I  run  away  you  will  have  the 
advantage  of  being  rid  of  me.  Our  settlements  can 
be  drawn  so  as  to  secure  you  half  my  fortune  in  such 
an  event." 

"You  will  never  have  a  chance  of  running  away 
from  me." 

"  I  shall  not  want  to.  I  am  not  so  squeamish  as  I 
was.     No;  I  do  not  think  I  shall  run  away  from  you." 

"  I  do  not  think  so  either." 

"  "Well,  when  shall  we  be  married?  " 

"  Never,"  said  Agatha,  and  fled.  But  before  she 
had  gone  a  step  he  caught  her. 

"  Don't,"  she  said  breathlessly.  "  Take  your  arm 
away.     How  dare  you?" 

He  released  her  and  shut  the  door  of  the  conser- 
vatory. "  Now,"  he  said,  "  if  you  want  to  run  away 
you  will  have  to  run  in  the  open." 

"You  are  very  impertinent.  Let  me  go  in  im- 
mediately." 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  beg  you  to  marry  me  after 
you  have  offered  to  do  it  freely?  " 

"  But  I  was  only  joking;  I  don't  care  for  you,"  she 
said,  looking  round  for  an  outlet. 

"Agatha,"  he  said,  with  grim  patience,  "half  an 
hour  ago  I  had  no  more  intention  of  marrying  you 
than  of  making  a  voyage  to  the  moon.  But  when  you 
made  the  suggestion  I  felt  all  its  force  in  an  instant. 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

and  now  nothing  will  satisfy  me  but  your  keeping 
your  word.  Of  all  tlie  women  I  know,  you  are  the 
only  one  not  quite  a  fool." 

"  I  should  be  a  great  fool  if " 

"  If  you  married  me,  you  were  going  to  say;  but  I 
don't  think  so.  I  am  the  only  man,  not  quite  an  ass, 
of  your  acquaintance.  I  know  my  value,  and  yours. 
And  I  loved  you  long  ago,  when  I  had  no  right  to." 

Agatha  frowned.  "  No,"  she  said.  "  There  is  no 
use  in  saying  anything  more  about  it.  It  is  out  of  the 
question." 

"  Come,  don't  be  vindictive.  I  was  more  sincere 
then  than  you  were.  But  that  has  nothing  to  do  with 
the  present.  You  have  spent  our  renewed  acquaint- 
ance on  the  defensive  against  me,  retorting  upon  me, 
teasing  and  tempting  me.  Be  generous  for  once,  and 
say  Yes  with  a  good  will." 

"  Oh,  I  never  tempted  you,"  cried  Agatha.  "  I 
did  not.  It  is  not  true."  He  said  nothing,  but  of- 
fered his  hand.  "  No;  go  away;  I  will  not."  He  per- 
sisted, and  she  felt  her  power  of  resistance  suddenly 
wane.  Terror-stricken,  she  said  hastily,  "  There  is 
not  the  least  use  in  bothering  me;  I  will  tell  you  noth- 
ing to-day." 

"  Promise  me  on  your  honor  that  you  will  say 
Yes  to-morrow,  and  I  will  leave  you  in  peace  until 
then." 

"  I  will  not." 

"  The  deuce  take  your  sex,"  he  said  plaintively. 
"  You  know  my  mind  now,  and  I  have  to  stand  here 
21  321 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

coquetting  because  you  don't  know  your  own.  If  I 
cared  for  my  comfort  I  should  remain  a  bachelor." 

"  I  advise  you  to  do  so,"  she  said,  stealing  backward 
towards  the  door.  "  You  are  a  very  interesting  wid- 
ower. A  wife  would  spoil  you.  Consider  the  trou- 
bles of  domesticity,  too." 

"  I  like  troubles.  They  strengthen — Aha!  "  (she  had 
snatched  at  the  knob  of  the  door,  and  he  swiftly  put 
his  hand  on  hers  and  stayed  her).  "  Not  yet,  if  you 
please.  Can  you  not  speak  out  like  a  woman — ^like  a 
man,  I  mean?  You  may  withhold  a  bone  from  Max 
until  he  stands  on  his  hind  legs  to  beg  for  it,  but  you 
should  not  treat  me  like  a  dog.  Say  Yes  frankly,  and 
do  not  keep  me  begging." 

"  What  in  the  world  do  you  want  to  marry  me  for?  " 

"  Because  I  was  made  to  carry  a  house  on  my  shoul- 
ders, and  will  do  so.  I  want  to  do  the  best  I  can  for 
myself,  and  I  shall  never  have  such  a  chance  again. 
And  I  cannot  help  myself,  and  don't  know  why;  that 
is  the  plain  truth  of  the  matter.  You  will  marry 
someone  some  day."  She  shook  her  head.  "Yes, 
you  will.     Why  not  marry  me?  " 

Agatha  bit  her  nether  lip,  looked  ruefully  at  the 

ground,  and,  after  a  long  pause,  said  reluctantly, 

"  Very  well.     But  mind,  I  think  you  are  acting  very 

foolishly,  and  if  you  are  disappointed  afterwards,  you 

must  not  blame  me." 

"  I  take  the  risk  of  my  bargain,"  he  said,  releasing 
her  hand,  and  leaning  against  the  door  as  he  took  out 
his  pocket  diary.     "  You  will  have  to  take  the  risk  of 

323 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

yours,  which  I  hope  may  not  prove  the  worse  of  the 
two.  This  is  the  seventeenth  of  June.  What  date 
before  the  twenty-fourth  of  July  will  suit  you?  " 

"  You  mean  the  twenty-fourth  of  July  next  year,  I 
presume  ?  " 

"  No;  I  mean  this  year.  I  am  going  abroad  on  that 
date,  married  or  not,  to  attend  a  conference  at  Geneva, 
and  I  want  you  to  come  with  me.  I  will  show  you  a 
lot  of  places  and  things  that  you  have  never  seen  be- 
fore. It  is  your  right  to  name  the  day,  but  you  have 
no  serious  business  to  provide  for,  and  I  have." 

"But  you  don't  know  all  the  things  I  shall — I 
should  have  to  provide.  You  had  better  wait  until 
you  come  back  from  the  continent." 

"  There  is  nothing  to  be  provided  on  your  part  but 
settlements  and  your  trousseau.  The  trousseau  is  all 
nonsense;  and  Jansenius  knows  me  of  old  in  the  mat- 
ter of  settlements.  I  got  married  in  six  weeks 
before." 

"  Yes,"  said  Agatha  sharply,  "  but  I  am  not  Hen- 
rietta." 

"  No,  thank  Heaven,"  he  assented  placidly. 

Agatha  was  struck  with  remorse.  "  That  was  a  vile 
thing  for  me  to  say,"  she  said;  "  and  for  you  too." 

"  Whatever  is  true  is  to  the  purpose,  vile  or  not. 
Will  you  come  to  Geneva  on  the  twenty-fourth  ?  " 

"  But I  really  was  not  thinking  when  I 

I  did  not  intend  to  say  that  I  would I " 

"  I  know.     You  will  come  if  we  are  married." 

"  Yes.     If  we  are  married." 
323 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"  We  shall  be  married.  Do  not  write  either  to  your 
mother  or  Jansenius  until  I  ask  you/' 

"I  don't  intend  to.  I  have  nothing  to  write 
about." 

"  Wretch  that  you  are!  And  do  not  be  jealous  if 
you  catch  me  making  love  to  Lady  Brandon.  I  al- 
ways do  so;  she  expects  it." 

"  You  may  make  love  to  whom  you  please.  It  is 
no  concern  of  mine." 

"  Here  comes  the  wagonette  with  Lady  Brandon 

and  Ger and  Miss  Lindsay.     I  mustn't  call  her 

Gertrude  now  except  when  you  are  not  by.  Before 
they  interrupt  us,  let  me  remind  you  of  the  three 
points  we  are  agreed  upon.  I  love  you.  You  do  not 
love  me.  We  are  to  be  married  before  the  twenty- 
fourth  of  next  month.  Now  I  must  fly  to  help  her 
ladyship  to  alight." 

He  hastened  to  the  house  door,  at  which  the  wag- 
onette had  just  stopped.  Agatha,  bewildered,  and 
ashamed  to  face  her  friends,  went  in  through  the  con- 
servatory, and  locked  herself  in  her  room. 

Trefusis  went  into  the  library  with  Gertrude  whilst 
Lady  Brandon  loitered  in  the  hall  to  take  off  her 
gloves  and  ask  questions  of  the  servants.  When  she 
followed,  she  found  the  two  standing  together  at  the 
window.  Gertrude  was  listening  to  him  with  the  pa- 
tient expression  she  now  often  wore  when  he  talked. 
He  was  smiling,  but  it  struck  Jane  that  he  was  not 
quite  at  ease. 

"I  was  just  beginning  to  tell  Miss  Lindsay,"  he  said, 
324 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"  of  an  extraordinary  thing  that  has  happened  during 
your  absence." 

"  I  know,"  exclaimed  Jane,  with  sudden  conviction. 
"  The  heater  in  the  conservatory  has  cracked." 

"  Possibly,"  said  Trefusis;  "  but,  if  so,  I  have  not 
heard  of  it." 

"  If  it  hasn't  cracked,  it  will,"  said  Jane  gloomily. 
Then,  assuming  with  some  effort  an  interest  in  Tre- 
fusis's  news,  she  added:  "  Well,  what  has  happened?  " 

"I  was  chatting  with  Miss  Wylie  just  now,  when 
a  singular  idea  occurred  to  us.  We  discussed  it  for 
some  time;  and  the  upshot  is  that  we  are  to  be  mar- 
ried before  the  end  of  next  month." 

Jane  reddened  and  stared  at  him;  and  he  looked 
keenly  back  at  her.  Gertrude,  though  unobserved, 
did  not  suffer  her  expression  of  patient  happiness  to 
change  in  the  least;  but  a  greenish-white  color  sud- 
denly appeared  in  her  face,  and  only  gave  place  very 
slowly  to  her  usual  complexion. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  are  going  to  marry 
Agatha  f  said  Lady  Brandon  incredulously,  after  a 
pause. 

"  Yes.  I  had  no  intention  of  doing  so  when  I  last 
saw  you  or  I  should  have  told  you." 

"  I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing  in  my  life!  You  fell 
in  love  with  one  another  in  five  minutes,  I  suppose." 

"  Good  Heavens,  no!  we  are  not  in  love  with  one 
another.  Can  you  believe  that  I  would  marry  for 
such  a  frivolous  reason?  No.  The  subject  turned 
up  accidentally,  and  the  advantages  of  a  match  be- 

325 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

tween  us  struck  me  forcibly.     I  was  fortunate  enough 
to  convert  her  to  my  opinion." 

"Yes;  she  wanted  a  lot  of  pressing,  I  dare  say/' 
said  Jane,  glancing  at  Gertrude,  who  was  smiling  un- 
meaningly. 

"As  you  imply,"  said  Trefusis  coolly,  "  her  reluc- 
tance may  have  been  affected,  and  she  only  too  glad  to 
get  such  a  charming  husband.  Assuming  that  to  be 
the  case,  she  dissembled  remarkably  well." 

Gertrude  took  off  her  bonnet,  and  left  the  room 
without  speaking. 

"  This  is  my  revenge  upon  you  for  marrying  Bran- 
don," he  said  then,  approaching  Jane. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  retorted  ironically.  "  I  believe  all 
that,  of  course." 

"You  have  the  same  security  for  its  truth  as  for 
that  of  all  the  foolish  things  I  confess  to  you. 
There! "  He  pointed  to  a  panel  of  looking  glass,  in 
which  Jane's  figure  was  reflected  at  full  length. 

"  I  don't  see  anything  to  admire,"  said  Jane,  look- 
ing at  herself  with  no  great  favor.  "  There  is  plenty 
of  me,  if  you  admire  that." 

"  It  is  impossible  to  have  too  much  of  a  good  thing. 
But  I  must  not  look  any  more.  Though  Agatha  says 
she  does  not  love  me,  I  am  not  sure  that  she  would  be 
pleased  if  I  were  to  look  for  love  from  anyone  else." 

"  Says  she  does  not  love  you!  Don't  believe  her; 
she  has  taken  trouble  enough  to  catch  you." 

"  I  am  flattered.  You  caught  me  without  any 
trouble,  and  yet  you  would  not  have  me." 

326 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"  It  is  manners  to  wait  to  be  asked.  I  think  you 
have  treated  Gertrude  shamefully — I  hope  you  won't 
be  offended  with  me  for  saying  so.  I  blame  Agatha 
most.     She  is  an  awfully  double-faced  girl." 

"How  so?"  said  Trefusis,  surprised.  "What  has 
Miss  Lindsay  to  do  with  it?  " 

"  You  know  very  well." 

"  I  assure  you  I  do  not.  If  you  were  speaking  of 
yourself  I  could  understand  you." 

"  Oh,  you  can  get  out  of  it  cleverly,  like  all  men; 
but  you  can't  hoodwink  me.  You  shouldn't  have  pre- 
tended to  like  Gertrude  when  you  were  really  pulling 
a  cord  with  Agatha.  And  she,  too,  pretending  to  flirt 
with  Sir  Charles — as  if  he  would  care  twopence  for 
her! " 

Trefusis  seemed  a  little  disturbed.  "  I  hope  Miss 
Lindsay  had  no  such — but  she  could  not." 

"  Oh,  couldn't  she?  You  will  soon  see  whether  she 
had  or  not." 

"  You  misunderstood  us.  Lady  Brandon;  Miss  Lind- 
say knows  better.  Remember,  too,  that  this  proposal 
of  mine  was  quite  unpremeditated.  This  morning  I 
had  no  tender  thoughts  of  anyone — except  one  whom 
it  would  be  improper  to  name." 

"  Oh,  that  is  all  talk.    It  won't  do  now." 

"  I  will  talk  no  more  at  present.  I  must  be  off  to 
the  village  to  telegraph  to  my  solicitor.  If  I  meet 
Erskine  I  will  tell  him  the  good  news." 

"  He  will  be  delighted.  He  thought,  as  we  all  did, 
that  you  were  cutting  him  out  with  Gertrude." 

337 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

Trefusis  smiled,  shook  his  head,  and,  with  a  glance 
of  admiring  homage  to  Jane's  charms,  went  out. 
Jane  was  contemplating  herself  in  the  glass  when 
a  servant  begged  her  to  come  and  speak  to  Master 
Charles  and  Miss  Fanny.  She  hurried  upstairs  to 
the  nursery,  where  her  boy  and  girl,  disputing 
each  other's  prior  right  to  torture  the  baby,  had 
come  to  blows.  They  were  somewhat  frightened, 
but  not  at  all  appeased,  by  Jane's  entrance.  She 
scolded,  coaxed,  threatened,  bribed,  quoted  Dr. 
Watts,  appealed  to  the  nurse  and  then  insulted  her, 
demanded  of  the  children  whether  they  loved  one 
another,  whether  they  loved  mamma,  and  whether 
they  wanted  a  right  good  whipping.  At  last,  exas- 
perated by  her  own  inability  to  restore  order,  she 
seized  the  baby,  which  had  cried  incessantly  through- 
out, and,  declaring  that  it  was  doing  it  on  purpose 
and  should  have  something  real  to  cry  for,  gave  it  an 
exemplary  smacking,  and  ordered  the  others  to  bed. 
The  boy,  awed  by  the  fate  of  his  infant  brother,  of- 
fered, by  way  of  compromise,  to  be  good  if  Miss  Wylie 
would  come  and  play  with  him,  a  proposal  which  pro- 
voked from  his  jealous  mother  a  box  on  the  ear  that 
sent  him  howling  to  his  cot.  Then  she  left  the  room, 
pausing  on  the  threshold  to  remark  that  if  she  heard 
another  sound  from  them  that  day,  they  might  expect 
the  worst  from  her.  On  descending,  heated  and 
angry,  to  the  drawing-room,  she  found  Agatha  there 
alone,  looking  out  of  window  as  if  the  landscape  were 
especially  unsatisfactory  this  time. 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"  Selfish  little  beasts! "  exclaimed  Jane,  making  a 
miniature  whirlwind  with  her  skirts  as  she  came  in. 
"  Charlie  is  a  perfect  little  fiend.  He  spends  all  his 
time  thinking  how  he  can  annoy  me.  Ugh!  He's 
just  like  his  father." 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear/'  said  Sir  Charles  from  the 
doorway. 

Jane  laughed.  "  I  knew  you  were  there/'  she  said. 
"Where's  Gertrude?" 

"  She  has  gone  out/'  said  Sir  Charles. 

"  Nonsense!  She  has  only  just  come  in  from  driv- 
ing with  me." 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  mean  by  nonsense/'  said 
Sir  Charles,  chafing.  "  I  saw  her  walking  along  the 
Eiverside  Road.  I  was  in  the  village  road,  and  she 
did  not  see  me.     She  seemed  in  a  hurry." 

"  I  met  her  on  the  stairs  and  spoke  to  her/'  said 
Agatha,  "  but  she  didn't  hear  me." 

"  I  hope  she  is  not  going  to  throw  herself  into  the 
river,"  said  Jane.  Then,  turning  to  her  husband, 
she  added:  "  Have  you  heard  the  news?  " 

"  The  only  news  I  have  heard  is  from  this  paper," 
said  Sir  Charles,  taking  out  a  journal  and  flinging  it 
on  the  table.  "  There  is  a  paragraph  in  it  stating  that 
I  have  joined  some  infernal  Socialistic  league,  and  I 
am  told  that  there  is  an  article  in  the  '  Times '  on  the 
spread  of  Socialism,  in  which  my  name  is  mentioned. 
This  is  all  due  to  Trefusis;  and  I  think  he  has  played 
me  a  most  dishonorable  trick.  I  will  tell  him  so,  too, 
when  next  I  see  him." 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"You  had  better  be  careful  what  you  say  of  him 
before  Agatha/^  said  Jane.  "  Oh,  you  need  not  be 
alarmed,  Agatha;  I  know  all  about  it.  He  told  us  in 
the  library.  We  went  out  this  morning — Gertrude 
and  I — and  when  we  came  back  we  found  Mr.  Tre- 
fusis  and  Agatha  talking  very  lovingly  to  one  another 
on  the  conservatory  steps,  newly  engaged." 

^^  Indeed! "  said  Sir  Charles,  disconcerted  and  dis- 
pleased, but  trying  to  smile.  "  I  may  then  congratu- 
late you.  Miss  Wylie?  " 

"You  need  not,"  said  Agatha,  keeping  her  coun- 
tenance as  well  as  she  could.  "  It  was  only  a  joke.  At 
least  it  came  about  in  a  jest.  He  has  no  right  to  say 
that  we  are  engaged." 

"  Stuff  and  nonsense,"  said  Jane.  "  That  won't  do, 
Agatha.  He  has  gone  off  to  telegraph  to  his  solicitor. 
He  is  quite  in  earnest." 

"  I  am  a  great  fool,"  said  Agatha,  sitting  down  and 
twisting  her  hands  perplexedly.  "I  believe  I  said 
something;  but  I  really  did  not  intend  to.  He  sur- 
prised me  into  speaking  before  I  knew  what  I  was 
saying.     A  pretty  mess  I  have  got  myself  into!  " 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  been  outwitted  at  last,"  said 
Jane,  laughing  spitefully.  "  You  never  had  any  pity 
for  me  when  I  could  not  think  of  the  proper  thing  to 
say  at  a  moment's  notice." 

Agatha  let  the  taunt  pass  unheeded.  Her  gaze 
wandered  anxiously,  and  at  last  settled  appealingly 
upon  Sir  Charles.  "What  shall  I  do?"  she  said  to 
him. 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"  Well,  Miss  Wylie,"  he  said  gravely,  "  if  you  did 
not  mean  to  marry  him  you  should  not  have  promised. 
I  don^t  wish  to  be  unsympathetic,  and  I  know  that 
it  is  very  hard  to  get  rid  of  Trefusis  when  he  makes 
up  his  mind  to  get  something  out  of  you,  hut  still " 

"  Never  mind  her,"  said  Jane,  interrupting  him. 
"  She  wants  to  marry  him  just  as  badly  as  he  wants  to 
marry  her.  You  would  be  preciously  disappointed  if 
he  cried  off,  Agatha;  for  all  your  interesting  re- 
luctance." 

"  That  is  not  so,  really,"  said  Agatha  earnestly.  "  I 
wish  I  had  taken  time  to  think  about  it.  I  suppose 
he  has  told  everybody  by  this  time." 

"May  we  then  regard  it  as  settled?"  said  Sir 
Charles. 

"  Of  course  you  may,"  said  Jane  contemptuously. 

"  Pray  allow  Miss  Wylie  to  speak  for  herself,  Jane. 
I  confess  I  do  not  understand  why  you  are  still  in 
doubt — if  you  have  really  engaged  yourself  to 
him." 

"  I  suppose  I  am  in  for  it,"  said  Agatha.  "  I  feel 
as  if  there  were  some  fatal  objection,  if  I  could  only 
remember  what  it  is.     I  wish  I  had  never  seen  him." 

Sir  Charles  was  puzzled.  "  I  do  not  understand 
ladies'  ways  in  these  matters,"  he  said.  "  However, 
as  there  seems  to  be  no  doubt  that  you  and  Trefusis 
are  engaged,  I  shall  of  course  say  nothing  that  would 
make  it  unpleasant  for  him  to  visit  here;  but  I  must 
say  that  he  has — to  say  the  least — been  inconsiderate 
to  me  personally.    I  signed  a  paper  at  his  house  on  the 

331 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

implicit  understanding  that  it  was  strictly  private, 
and  now  he  has  trumpeted  it  forth  to  the  whole  world, 
and  publicly  associated  my  name  not  only  with  his 
own,  but  with  those  of  persons  of  whom  I  know  noth- 
ing except  that  I  would  rather  not  be  connected  with 
them  in  any  way/^ 

'^What  does  it  matter?"  said  Jane.  "  Xobody 
cares  twopence." 

"  I  care,"  said  Sir  Charles  angrily.  "  No  sensible 
person  can  accuse  me  of  exaggerating  my  own  im- 
portance because  I  value  my  reputation  sufficiently  to 
object  to  my  approval  being  publicly  cited  in  support 
of  a  cause  with  which  I  have  no  sympathy." 

"  Perhaps  Mr.  Trefusis  has  had  nothing  to  do  with 
it,"  said  Agatha.  "  The  papers  publish  whatever 
they  please,  don't  they?  " 

"  That's  right,  Agatha,"  said  Jane  maliciously. 
"  Don't  let  anyone  speak  ill  of  him." 

"  I  am  not  speaking  ill  of  him,"  said  Sir  Charles, 
before  Agatha  could  retort.  "  It  is  a  mere  matter  of 
feeling,  and  I  should  not  have  mentioned  it  had  I 
known  the  altered  relations  between  him  and  Miss 
Wylie." 

"Pray  don't  speak  of  them,"  said  Agatha.  "I 
have  a  mind  to  run  away  by  the  next  train." 

Sir  Charles,  to  change  the  subject,  suggested  a  duet. 

Meanwhile  Erskine,  returning  through  the  village 
from  his  morning  ride,  had  met  Trefusis,  and  at- 
tempted to  pass  him  with  a  nod.  But  Trefusis  called 
to  him  to  stop,  and  he  dismounted  reluctantly. 

332 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"  Just  a  word  to  say  that  I  am  going  to  be  married," 
said  Tref  usis. 

'•'To ?"  Erskine  could  not  add  Gertrude's  name. 

"  To  one  of  our  friends  at  the  Beeches.  Guess  to 
which." 

"  To  Miss  Lindsay,  I  presume." 

"  What  in  the  fiend's  name  has  put  it  into  all  your 
heads  that  Miss  Lindsay  and  I  are  particularly  at- 
tached to  one  another?  "  exclaimed  Tref  usis.  "  You 
have  always  appeared  to  me  to  be  the  man  for  Miss 
Lindsay.     I  am  going  to  marry  Miss  Wylie." 

"Really!"  exclaimed  Erskine,  with  a  sensation  of 
suddenly  thawing  after  a  bitter  frost. 

"  Of  course.  And  now,  Erskine,  you  have  the  ad- 
vantage of  being  a  poor  man.  Do  not  let  that  splen- 
did girl  marry  for  money.  If  you  go  further  you  are 
likely  to  fare  worse;  and  so  is  she."  Then  he  nodded 
and  walked  away,  leaving  the  other  staring  after  him. 

*'  If  he  has  jilted  her,  he  is  a  scoundrel,"  said  Ers- 
kine.    "  I  am  sorry  I  didn't  tell  him  so." 

He  mounted  and  rode  slowly  along  the  Riverside 
Road,  partly  suspecting  Trefusis  of  some  mystifica- 
tion, but  inclining  to  believe  in  him,  and,  in  any  case, 
to  take  his  advice  as  to  Gertrude.  The  conversation 
he  had  overheard  in  the  avenue  still  perplexed  him. 
He  could  not  reconcile  it  with  Trefusis's  profession  of 
disinterestedness  towards  her. 

His  bicycle  carried  him  noiselessly  on  its  india- 
rubber  tires  to  the  place  by  which  the  hemlock  grew, 
and  there  he  saw  Gertrude  sitting  on  the  low  earthen 

m 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

wall  that  separated  the  field  from  the  road.  Her 
straw  bag,  with  her  scissors  in  it,  lay  beside  her.  Her 
fingers  were  interlaced,  and  her  hands  rested,  palms 
downwards,  on  her  knee.  Her  expression  was  rather 
vacant,  and  so  little  suggestive  of  any  serious  emotion 
that  Erskine  laughed  as  he  alighted  close  to  her. 

"  Are  you  tired  ?  ^^  he  said. 

"No,"  she  replied,  not  startled,  and  smiling  me- 
chanically— an  unusual  condescension  on  her  part. 

"  Indulging  in  a  day-dream?  " 

"  No."  She  moved  a  little  to  one  side  and  con- 
cealed the  basket  with  her  dress. 

He  began  to  fear  that  something  was  wrong.  "  Is 
it  possible  that  you  have  ventured  among  those  poi- 
sonous plants  again?  "  he  said.     "  Are  you  ill?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  she  replied,  rousing  herself  a  little. 
"Your  solicitude  is  quite  thrown  away.  I  am  per- 
fectly well." 

"  I   beg   your    pardon,"    he    said,    snubbed.      "  I 

thought Don't  you  think  it  dangerous  to  sit  on 

that  damp  wall  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  damp.  It  is  crumbling  into  dust  with 
dryness."  An  unnatural  laugh,  with  which  she  con- 
cluded, intensified  his  uneasiness. 

He  began  a  sentence,  stopped,  and  to  gain  time  to 
recover  himself,  placed  his  bicycle  in  the  opposite 
ditch;  a  proceeding  which  she  witnessed  with  impa- 
tience, as  it  indicated  his  intention  to  stay  and  talk. 
She,  however,  was  the  first  to  speak;  and  she  did  so 
with  a  callousness  that  shocked  him. 

334 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"  Have  you  heard  the  news?  " 

"What  news?" 

"About  Mr.  Trefusis  and  Agatha.  They  are  en- 
gaged." 

"  So  Trefusis  told  me.  I  met  him  just  now  in  the 
village.     I  was  very  glad  to  hear  it." 

"  Of  course." 

"  But  I  had  a  special  reason  for  being  glad." 

"Indeed?" 

"  I  was  desperately  afraid,  before  he  told  me  the 
truth,  that  he  had  other  views — views  that  might  have 
proved  fatal  to  my  dearest  hopes." 

Gertrude  frowned  at  him,  and  the  frown  roused  him 
to  brave  her.  He  lost  his  self-command,  already 
shaken  by  her  strange  behavior.  "  You  know  that  I 
love  you,  Miss  Lindsay,"  he  said.  "  It  may  not  be  a 
perfect  love,  but,  humanly  speaking,  it  is  a  true  one. 
I  almost  told  you  so  that  day  when  we  were  in  the  bil- 
liard room  together;  and  I  did  a  very  dishonorable 
thing  the  same  evening.  When  you  were  speaking  to 
Trefusis  in  the  avenue  I  was  close  to  you,  and  I 
listened." 

"  Then  you  heard  him,"  cried  Gertrude  ve- 
hemently. "You  heard  him  swear  that  he  was  in 
earnest." 

"Yes,"  said  Erskine,  trembling,  "and  I  thought 
he  meant  in  earnest  in  loving  you.  You  can  hardly 
blame  me  for  that:  I  was  in  love  myself;  and  love  is 
blind  and  jealous.  I  never  hoped  again  until  he  told 
me  that  he  was  to  be  married  to  Miss  Wylie.     May  I 

335 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

to  you,  now  that  I  know  I  was  mistaken,  or  that 
yon  have  changed  your  mind?  " 

"  Or  that  he  has  changed  his  mind,"  said  Gertrude 
scornfully. 

Erskine,  with  a  new  anxiety  for  her  sake,  checked 
himself.  Her  dignity  was  dear  to  him,  and  he  saw 
that  her  disappointment  had  made  her  reckless  of  it. 
"  Do  not  say  anything  to  me  now.  Miss  Lindsay, 
lest " 

"  What  have  I  said?    What  have  I  to  say?  " 

"  Nothing,  except  on  my  own  affairs.  I  love  you 
dearly." 

She  made  an  impatient  movement,  as  if  that  were 
a  very  insignificant  matter. 

"  You  believe  me,  I  hope,"  he  said,  timidly. 

Gertrude  made  an  effort  to  recover  her  habitual 
ladylike  reserve,  but  her  energy  failed  before  she  had 
done  more  than  raise  her  head.  She  relapsed  into  her 
listless  attitude,  and  made  a  faint  gesture  of  intol- 
erance. 

"  You  cannot  be  quite  indifferent  to  being  loved," 
he  said,  becoming  more  nervous  and  more  urgent. 
"  Your  existence  constitutes  all  my  happiness.  I  of- 
fer you  my  services  and  devotion.  I  do  not  ask  any 
reward."  (He  was  now  speaking  very  quickly  and 
almost  inaudibly.)  "  You  may  accept  my  love  with- 
out returning  it.  I  do  not  want — seek  to  make  a 
bargain.  If  you  need  a  friend  you  may  be  able  to  rely 
on  me  more  confidently  because  you  know  I  love  you." 

"  Oh,  you  think  so,"  said  Gertrude,  interrupting 
386 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

him;  "  but  you  will  get  over  it.  I  am  not  the  sort  of 
person  that  men  fall  in  love  with.  You  will  soon 
change  your  mind." 

"  Not  the  sort!  Oh,  how  little  you  know!  '*  he  said, 
becoming  eloquent.  "  I  have  had  plenty  of  time  to 
change,  but  I  am  as  fixed  as  ever.  If  you  doubt,  wait 
and  try  me.  But  do  not  be  rough  with  me.  You 
pain  me  more  than  you  can  imagine  when  you  are 
hasty  or  indifferent.     I  am  in  earnest." 

"  Ha,  ha!     That  is  easily  said." 

"  Not  by  me.  I  change  in  my  judgment  of  other 
people  according  to  my  humor,  but  I  believe  stead- 
fastly in  your  goodness  and  beauty — as  if  you  were  an 
angel.  I  am  in  earnest  in  my  love  for  you  as  I  am 
in  earnest  for  my  own  life,  which  can  only  be  per- 
fected by  your  aid  and  influence." 

"  You  are  greatly  mistaken  if  you  suppose  that  I  am 
an  angel." 

"  You  are  wrong  to  mistrust  yourself;  but  it  is  what 
I  owe  to  you  and  not  what  I  expect  from  you  that  I 
try  to  express  by  speaking  of  you  as  an  angel.  I  know 
that  you  are  not  an  angel  to  yourself.  But  you  are 
to  me." 

She  sat  stubbornly  silent. 

"  I  will  not  press  you  for  an  answer  now.  I  am 
content  that  you  know  my  mind  at  last.  Shall  we 
return  together?  " 

She  looked  round  slowly  at  the  hemlock,  and  from 
that  to  the  river.     Then  she  took  up  her  basket,  rose, 
and  prepared  to  go,  as  if  under  compulsion.     . 
23  337 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"  Do  you  want  any  more  hemlock  ?  "  he  said.  "  If 
so,  I  will  pluck  some  for  you." 

"  I  wish  you  would  let  me  alone/'  she  said,  with  sud- 
den anger.  She  added,  a  little  ashamed  of  herself, 
"  I  have  a  headache." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  he  said,  crestfallen. 

"  It  is  only  that  I  do  not  wish  to  be  spoken  to.  It 
hurts  my  head  to  listen." 

He  meekly  took  his  bicycle  from  the  ditch  and 
wheeled  it  along  beside  her  to  the  Beeches  without 
another  word.  They  went  in  through  the  conserva- 
tory, and  parted  in  the  dining-room.  Before  leaving 
him  she  said  with  some  remorse,  "  I  did  not  mean  to 
be  rude,  Mr.  Erskine." 

He  flushed,  murmured  something,  and  attempted 
to  kiss  her  hand.  But  she  snatched  it  away  and  went 
out  quickly.  He  was  stung  by  this  repulse,  and  stood 
mortifying  himself  by  thinking  of  it  until  he  was  dis- 
turbed by  the  entrance  of  a  maid-servant.  Learning 
from  her  that  Sir  Charles  was  in  the  billiard  room, 
he  joined  him  there,  and  asked  him  carelessly  if  he 
had  heard  the  news. 

"  About  Miss  Wylie?  "  said  Sir  Charles.  "  Yes,  I 
should  think  so.  I  believe  the  whole  country  knows 
it,  though  they  have  not  been  engaged  three  hours. 
Have  you  seen  these?"  And  he  pushed  a  couple  of 
newspapers  across  the  table. 

Erskine  had  to  make  several  efforts  before  he  could 
read.  "  You  were  a  fool  to  sign  that  document,"  he 
said.     "  I  told  you  so  at  the  time." 

338 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"  I  relied  on  the  fellow  being  a  gentleman,"  said  Sir 
Charles  warmly.  "  I  do  not  see  that  I  was  a  fool.  I 
see  that  he  is  a  cad,  and  but  for  this  business  of  Miss 
Wylie's  I  would  let  him  know  my  opinion.  Let  me 
tell  you,  Chester,  that  he  has  played  fast  and  loose 
with  Miss  Lindsay.  There  is  a  deuce  of  a  row  upstairs. 
She  has  just  told  Jane  that  she  must  go  home  at  once; 
Miss  Wylie  declares  that  she  will  have  nothing  to  do 
with  Trefusis  if  Miss  Lindsay  has  a  prior  claim  to  him, 
and  Jane  is  annoyed  at  his  admiring  anybody  except 
herself.  It  serves  me  right;  my  instinct  warned  me 
against  the  fellow  from  the  first." 

Just  then  luncheon  was  announced.  Gertrude  did 
not  come  down.  Agatha  was  silent  and  moody.  Jane 
tried  to  make  Erskine  describe  his  walk  with  Gertrude, 
but  he  baffled  her  curiosity  by  omitting  from  his  ac- 
count everything  except  its  commonplaces. 

"  I  think  her  conduct  very  strange,"  said  Jane. 
"  She  insists  on  going  to  town  by  the  four  o'clock 
train.  I  consider  that  it's  not  polite  to  me,  although 
she  always  made  a  point  of  her  perfect  manners.  I 
never  heard  of  such  a  thing! " 

When  they  had  risen  from  the  table,  they  went  to- 
gether to  the  drawing-room.  They  had  hardly  ar- 
rived there  when  Trefusis  was  announced,  and  he  was 
in  their  presence  before  they  had  time  to  conceal  the 
expression  of  consternation  his  name  brought  into 
their  faces. 

"  I  have  come  to  say  good-bye,"  he  said.  "  I  find 
that  I  must  go  to  town  by  the  four  o'clock  train  to 

339 


I 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

push  my  arrangements  in  person;  the  telegrams  I  have 
received  breathe  nothing  but  delay.  Have  you  seen  the 
^Times'?" 

"  I  have  indeed,"  said  Sir  Charles,  emphatically. 

"  You  are  in  some  other  paper  too,  and  will  be  in 
half-a-dozen  more  in  the  course  of  the  next  fortnight. 
Men  who  have  committed  themselves  to  an  opinion 
are  always  in  trouble  with  the  newspapers;  some  be- 
cause they  cannot  get  into  them,  others  because  they 
cannot  keep  out.  If  you  had  put  forward  a  thunder- 
ing revolutionary  manifesto,  not  a  daily  paper  would 
have  dared  allude  to  it:  there  is  no  cowardice  like 
Fleet  Street  cowardice!  I  must  run  off;  I  have  much 
to  do  before  I  start,  and  it  is  getting  on  for  three. 
Good-bye,  Lady  Brandon,  and  everybody." 

He  shook  Jane's  hand,  dealt  nods  to  the  rest  rap- 
idly, making  no  distinction  in  favor  of  Agatha,  and 
hurried  away.  They  stared  after  him  for  a  moment, 
and  then  Erskine  ran  out  and  went  downstairs  two 
steps  at  a  time.  Nevertheless  he  had  to  run  as  far 
as  the  avenue  before  he  overtook  his  man. 

"  Trefusis,"  he  said  breathlessly,  "  you  must  not  go 
by  the  four  o'clock  train." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Miss  Lindsay  is  going  to  town  by  it." 

"  So  much  the  better,  my  dear  boy;  so  much  the 
better.     You  are  not  jealous  of  me  now,  are  you?  " 

"Look  here,  Trefusis.  I  don't  know  and  I  don't 
ask  what  there  has  been  between  you  and  Miss  Lind- 
say, but  your  engagement  has  quite  upset  her,  and 
340 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

she  is  running  away  to  London  in  consequence.  If 
she  hears  that  you  are  going  by  the  same  train  she  will 
wait  until  to-morrow,  and  I  believe  the  delay  would 
be  very  disagreeable.  Will  you  inflict  that  additional 
pain  upon  her?  " 

Trefusis,  evidently  concerned,  looking  doubtfully 
at  Erskine,  and  pondered  for  a  moment.  "  I  think 
you  are  on  a  wrong  scent  about  this,"  he  said.  "  My 
relations  with  Miss  Lindsay  were  not  of  a  sentimental 
kind.  Have  you  said  anything  to  her — on  your  own 
account,  I  mean?  " 

"  I  have  spoken  to  her  on  both  accounts,  and  I 
know  from  her  own  lips  that  I  am  right." 

Trefusis  uttered  a  low  whistle. 

"  It  is  not  the  first  time  I  have  had  the  evidence  of 
my  senses  in  the  matter,"  said  Erskine  significantly. 
"Pray  think  of  it  seriously,  Trefusis.  Forgive  my 
telling  you  frankly  that  nothing  but  your  own  utter 
want  of  feeling  could  excuse  you  for  the  way  in  which 
you  have  acted  towards  her." 

Trefusis  smiled.  "Forgive  me  in  turn  for  myinquis- 
itiveness,"  he  said.  "What  does  she  say  to  your  suit  ?" 

Erskine  hesitated,  showing  by  his  manner  that  he 
thought  Trefusis  had  no  right  to  ask  the  question. 
"  She  says  nothing,"  he  answered. 

"  Hm!  "  said  Trefusis.  "  Well,  you  may  rely  on  me 
as  to  the  train.     There  is  my  hand  upon  it." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Erskine  fervently.     They  shook 
hands  and  parted,  Trefusis  walking  away  with  a  grin 
suggestive  of  anything  but  good  faith. 
341 


CHAPTEE    XVII 

Gertrude,  unaware  of  the  extent  to  which  she  had 
already  betrayed  her  disappointment,  believed  that 
anxiety  for  her  father's  health,  which  she  alleged  as 
the  motive  of  her  sudden  departure,  was  an  excuse 
plausible  enough  to  blind  her  friends  to  her  over- 
powering reluctance  to  speak  to  Agatha  or  endure  her 
presence;  to  her  fierce  shrinking  from  the  sort  of  pity 
usually  accorded  to  a  jilted  woman;  and,  above  all, 
to  her  dread  of  meeting -Trefusis.  She  had  for  some 
time  past  thought  of  him  as  an  upright  and  perfect 
man  deeply  interested  in  her.  Yet,  comparatively 
liberal  as  her  education  had  been,  she  had  no  idea  of 
any  interest  of  man  in  woman  existing  apart  from  a 
desire  to  marry.  He  had,  in  his  serious  moments, 
striven  to  make  her  sensible  of  the  baseness  he  saw  in 
her  worldliness,  flattering  her  by  his  apparent  con- 
viction— which  she  shared — that  she  was  capable  of  a 
liigher  life.  Almost  in  the  same  breath,  a  strain  of 
gallantry  which  was  incorrigible  in  him,  and  to  which 
his  humor  and  his  tenderness  to  women  whom  he  liked 
gave  variety  and  charm,  would  supervene  upon  his 
seriousness  with  a  rapidity  which  her  far  less  flexible 
temperament  could  not  follow.  Hence  she,  thinking 
him  still  in  earnest  when  he  had  swerved  into  florid 
romance,  had  been  dangerously  misled.  He  had  no 
342 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

conscientious  scruples  in  his  love-making,  because  he 
was  unaccustomed  to  consider  himself  as  likely  to  in- 
spire love  in  women;  and  Gertrude  did  not  know  that 
her  beauty  gave  to  an  hour  spent  alone  with  her  a 
transient  charm  which  few  men  of  imagination  and 
address  could  resist.  She,  who  had  lived  in  the  mar- 
riage market  since  she  had  left  school,  looked  upon 
love-making  as  the  most  serious  business  of  life.  To 
him  it  was  only  a  pleasant  sort  of  trifling,  enhanced 
by  a  dash  of  sadness  in  the  reflection  that  it  meant  so 
little. 

Of  the  ceremonies  attending  her  departure,  the  one 
that  cost  her  most  was  the  kiss  she  'felt  bound  to  offer 
Agatha.  She  had  been  jealous  of  her  at  college, 
where  she  had  esteemed  herself  the  better  bred  of  the 
two;  but  that  opinion  had  hardly  consoled  her  for 
Agatha's  superior  quickness  of  wit,  dexterity  of  hand, 
audacity,  aptness  of  resource,  capacity  for  forming  or 
following  intricate  associations  of  ideas,  and  conse- 
quent power  to  dazzle  others.  Her  jealousy  of  these 
qualities  was  now  barbed  by  the  knowledge  that  they 
were  much  nearer  akin  than  her  own  to  those  of  Tre- 
fusis.  It  mattered  little  to  her  how  she  appeared  to 
herself  in  comparison  with  Agatha.  But  it  mattered 
the  whole  world  (she  thought)  that  she  must  appear 
to  Trefusis  so  slow,  stiff,  cold,  and  studied,  and  that 
she  had  no  means  to  make  him  understand  that  she 
was  not  really  so.  For  she  would  not  admit  the  jus- 
tice of  impressions  made  by  what  she  did  not  intend 
to  do,  however  habitually  she  did  it.    She  had  a  theory 

343 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

that  she  was  not  herself,  but  what  she  would  have 
liked  to  be.  As  to  the  one  quality  in  which  she  had 
always  felt  superior  to  Agatha,  and  which  she  called 
**  good  breeding,"  Trefusis  had  so  far  destroyed  her 
conceit  in  that,  that  she  was  beginning  to  doubt 
whether  it  was  not  her  cardinal  defect. 

She  could  not  bring  herself  to  utter  a  word  as  she 
embraced  her  schoolfellow;  and  Agatha  was  tongue- 
tied  too.  But  there  was  much  remorseful  tenderness 
in  the  feelings  that  choked  them.  Their  silence  would 
have  been  awkward  but  for  the  loquacity  of  Jane,  who 
talked  enough  for  all  three.  Sir  Charles  was  without, 
in  the  trap,  waiting  to  drive  Gertrude  to  the  station. 
Erskine  intercepted  her  in  the  hall  as  she  passed  out, 
told  her  that  he  should  be  desolate  when  she  was  gone, 
and  begged  her  to  remember  him,  a  simple  petition 
which  moved  her  a  little,  and  caused  her  to  note  that 
his  dark  eyes  had  a  pleading  eloquence  which  she  had 
observed  before  in  the  kangaroos  at  the  Zoological  So- 
ciety's gardens. 

On  the  way  to  the  train  Sir  Charles  worried  the 
horse  in  order  to  be  excused  from  conversation  on  the 
sore  subject  of  his  guest's  sudden  departure.  He  had 
made  a  few  remarks  on  the  skittishness  of  young 
ponies,  and  on  the  weather,  and  that  was  all  until  they 
reached  the  station,  a  pretty  building  standing  in  the 
open  country,  with  a  view  of  the  river  from  the  plat- 
form. There  were  two  flies  waiting,  two  porters,  a 
bookstall,  and  a  refreshment  room  with  a  neglected 
beauty  pining  behind  the  bar.     Sir  Charles  waited  in 

344 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

the  booking  office  to  purchase  a  ticket  for  Gertrude, 
who  went  through  to  the  platform.  The  first  person 
she  saw  there  was  Trefusis,  close  beside  her. 

"  I  am  going  to  town  by  this  train,  Gertrude,"  he 
said  quickly.  "  Let  me  take  charge  of  you.  I  have 
something  to  say,  for  I  hear  that  some  mischief  has 
been  made  between  us  which  must  be  stopped  at  once. 
You " 

Just  then  Sir  Charles  came  out,  and  stood  amazed 
to  see  them  in  conversation. 

"  It  happens  that  I  am  going  by  this  train,"  said 
Trefusis.     "  I  will  see  after  Miss  Lindsay." 

'^Miss  Lindsay  has  her  maid  with  her,"  said  Sir 
Charles,  almost  stammering,  and  looking  at  Gertrude, 
whose  expression  was  inscrutable. 

"  We  can  get  into  the  Pullman  car,"  said  Trefusis. 
"  There  we  shall  be  as  private  as  in  a  corner  of  a 
crowded  drawing-room.  I  may  travel  with  you,  may 
I  not?"  he  said,  seeing  Sir  Charles's  disturbed  look, 
and  turning  to  her  for  express  permission. 

She  felt  that  to  deny  him  would  be  to  throw  away 
her  last  chance  of  happiness.  Nevertheless  she  re- 
solved to  do  it,  though  she  should  die  of  grief  on  the 
way  to  London.  As  she  raised  her  head  to  forbid  him 
the  more  emphatically,  she  met  his  gaze,  which  was 
grave  and  expectant.  For  an  instant  she  lost  her 
presence  of  mind,  and  in  that  instant  said,  "  Yes.  I 
shall  be  very  glad." 

"  Well,  if  that  is  the  case,"  said  Sir  Charles,  in  the 
tone  of  one  whose  sympathy  had  been  alienated  by  an 
845 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

unpardonable  outrage,  "there  can  be  no  use  in  my 
waiting.  I  leave  you  in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Trefusis. 
Good-bye,  Miss  Lindsay." 

Gertrude  winced.  Unkindness  from  a  man  usually 
kind  proved  hard  to  bear  at  parting.  She  was  offering 
him  her  hand  in  silence  when  Trefusis  said: 

"  Wait  and  see  us  off.  If  we  chance  to  be  killed  on 
the  journey — which  is  always  probable  on  an  English 
railway — you  will  reproach  yourself  afterwards  if  you 
do  not  see  the  last  of  us.  Here  is  the  train;  it  will  not 
delay  you  a  minute.  Tell  Erskine  that  you  saw  me 
here;  that  I  have  not  forgotten  my  promise,  and  that 
he  may  rely  on  me.     Get  in  at  this  end,  Miss  Lindsay." 

"  My  maid,"  said  Gertrude  hesitating;  for  she  had 
not  intended  to  travel  so  expensively.     "  She " 

"  She  comes  with  us  to  take  care  of  me;  I  have  tick- 
ets for  everybody,"  said  Trefusis,  handing  the  woman 
in. 

"  But " 

"  Take  your  seats,  please,"  said  the  guard.  "  Going 
by  the  train,  sir?" 

"  Good-bye,  Sir  Charles.  Give  my  love  to  Lady 
Brandon,  and  Agatha,  and  the  dear  children;  and 

thanks  so  much  for  a  very  pleasant "     Here  the 

train  moved  off,  and  Sir  Charles,  melting,  smiled  and 
waved  his  hat  until  he  caught  sight  of  Trefusis  look- 
ing back  at  him  with  a  grin  which  seemed,  under  the 
circumstances,  so  Satanic,  that  he  stopped  as  if  petri- 
fied in  the  midst  of  his  gesticulations,  and  stood  with 
his  arm  out  like  a  semaphore. 

340 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

The  drive  home  restored  him  somewhat,  but  he  was 
still  full  of  his  surprise  when  he  rejoined  Agatha,  his 
wife,  and  Erskine  in  the  drawing-room  at  the  Beeches. 
The  moment  he  entered,  he  said  without  preface, 
"  She  has  gone  off  with  Trefusis." 

Erskine,  who  had  been  reading,  started  up,  clutch- 
ing his  book  as  if  about  to  hurl  it  at  someone,  and 
cried,  "  Was  he  at  the  train?  " 

"  Yes,  and  has  gone  to  town  by  it." 

"  Then,"  said  Erskine,  flinging  the  book  violently 
on  the  floor,  "  he  is  a  scoundrel  and  a  liar." 

"  What  is  the  matter?  "  said  Agatha  rising,  whilst 
Jane  stared  open-mouthed  at  him. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  Miss  Wylie,  I  forgot  you.  He 
pledged  me  his  honor  that  he  would  not  go  by  that 

train.    I  will "    He  hurried  from  the  room.    Sir 

Charles  rushed  after  him,  and  overtook  him  at  the 
foot  of  the  stairs. 

"  Where  are  you  going?  What  do  you  want  to 
do?" 

"  I  will  follow  the  train  and  catch  it  at  the  next  sta- 
tion.    I  can  do  it  on  my  bicycle." 

"Nonsense!  you're  mad.  They  have  thirty-five 
minutes  start;  and  the  train  travels  forty-five  miles 
an  hour." 

Erskine  sat  down  on  the  stairs  and  gazed  blankly  at 
the  opposite  wall. 

"  You  must  have  mistaken  him,"  said  Sir  Charles. 
"  He  told  me  to  tell  you  that  he  had  not  forgotten  his 
promise,  and  that  you  may  rely  on  him." 

847 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"  What  is  the  matter?  "  said  Agatha,  coming  down, 
followed  by  Lady  Brandon. 

"  Miss  Wylie/'  said  Erskine,  springing  up,  "  he  gave 
me  his  word  that  he  would  not  go  by  that  train  when 
I  told  him  Miss  Lindsay  was  going  by  it.  He  has 
broken  his  word  and  seized  the  opportunity  I  was  mad 
and  credulous  enough  to  tell  him  of.  If  I  had  been 
in  your  place,  Brandon,  I  would  have  strangled  him 
or  thrown  him  under  the  wheels  sooner  than  let  him 
go.  He  has  shown  himself  in  this  as  in  everything 
else,  a  cheat,  a  conspirator,  a  man  of  crooked  ways, 
shifts,  tricks,  lying  sophistries,  heartless  selfishness, 

cruel  cynicism "     He  stopped  to  catch  his  breath, 

and  Sir  Charles  interposed  a  remonstrance. 

"  You  are  exciting  yourself  about  nothing,  Chester. 
They  are  in  a  Pullman,  with  her  maid  and  plenty  of 
people;  and  she  expressly  gave  him  leave  to  go  with 
her.  He  asked  her  the  question  flatly  before  my  face, 
and  I  must  say  I  thought  it  a  strange  thing  for  her  to 
consent  to.  However,  she  did  consent,  and  of  course 
I  was  not  in  a  position  to  prevent  him  from  going  to 
London  if  he  pleased.  Don't  let  us  have  a  scene,  old 
man.     It  can't  be  helped." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  said  Erskine,  hanging  his  head. 
"  I  did  not  mean  to  make  a  scene.  I  beg  your  par- 
don." 

He  went  away  to  his  room  without  another  word. 

Sir  Charles  followed  and  attempted  to  console  him, 

but  Erskine  caught  his  hand,  and  asked  to  be  left  to 

himself.     So  Sir"  Charles  returned  to  the  drawing- 

848 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

room,  where  his  wife,  at  a  loss  for  once,  hardly  ven- 
tured to  remark  that  she  had  never  heard  of  such  a 
thing  in  her  life. 

Agatha  kept  silence.  She  had  long  ago  come  un- 
consciously to  the  conclusion  that  Trefusis  and  she 
were  the  only  members  of  the  party  at  the  Beeches 
who  had  much  common-sense,  and  this  made  her  slow 
to  believe  that  he  could  be  in  the  wrong  and  Erskine 
in  the  right  in  any  misunderstanding  between  them. 
She  had  a  slovenly  way  of  summing  up  as  "asses" 
people  whose  habits  of  thought  differed  from  hers. 
Of  all  varieties  of  man,  the  minor  poet  realized  her 
conception  of  the  human  ass  most  completely,  and 
Erskine,  though  a  very  nice  fellow  indeed,  thoroughly 
good  and  gentlemanly,  in  her  opinion,  was  yet  a  minor 
poet,  and  therefore  a  pronounced  ass.  Trefusis,  on 
the  contrary,  was  the  last  man  of  her  acquaintance 
whom  she  would  have  thought  of  as  a  very  nice  fellow 
or  a  virtuous  gentleman;  but  he  was  not  an  ass,  al- 
though he  was  obstinate  in  his  Socialistic  fads.  She 
had  indeed  suspected  him  of  weakness  almost  asinine 
with  respect  to  Gertrude,  but  then  all  men  were  asses 
in  their  dealings  with  women,  and  since  he  had  trans- 
ferred his  weakness  to  her  own  account  it  no  longer 
seemed  to  need  justification.  And  now,  as  her  con- 
cern for  Erskine,  whom  she  pitied,  wore  off,  she  began 
to  resent  Trefusis's  journey  with  Gertrude  as  an  at- 
tack on  her  recently  acquired  monopoly  of  him. 
There  was  an  air  of  aristocratic  pride  about  Gertrude 
which  Agatha  had  formerly  envied,  and  which  she 

349 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

still  feared  Trefusis  might  mistake  for  an  index  of 
dignity  and  refinement.  Agatha  did  not  believe  that 
her  resentment  was  the  common  feeling  called  jeal- 
ousy, for  she  still  deemed  herself  unique,  but  it  gave 
her  a  sense  of  meanness  that  did  not  improve  her 
spirits. 

The  dinner  was  dull.  Lady  Brandon  spoke  in  an 
undertone,  as  if  someone  lay  dead  in  the  next  room. 
Erskine  was  depressed  by  the  consciousness  of  having 
lost  his  head  and  acted  foolishly  in  the  afternoon.  Sir 
Charles  did  not  pretend  to  ignore  the  suspense  they 
were  all  in  pending  intelligence  of  the  Journey  to 
London;  he  ate  and  drank  and  said  nothing.  Agatha, 
disgusted  with  herself  and  with  Gertrude,  and  unde- 
cided whether  to  be  disgusted  with  Trefusis  or  to 
trust  him  affectionately,  followed  the  example  of  her 
host.  After  dinner  she  accompanied  him  in  a  series 
of  songs  by  Schubert.  This  proved  an  aggravation 
instead  of  a  relief.  Sir  Charles,  excelling  in  the  ex- 
pression of  melancholy,  preferred  songs  of  that  char- 
acter; and  as  his  musical  ideas,  like  those  of  most 
Englishmen,  were  founded  on  what  he  had  heard  in 
church  in  his  childhood,  his  style  was  oppressively 
monotonous.  Agatha  took  the  first  excuse  that  pre- 
sented itself  to  leave  the  piano.  Sir  Charles  felt  that 
his  performance  had  been  a  failure,  and  remarked, 
after  a  cough  or  two,  that  he  had  caught  a  touch  of 
cold  returning  from  the  station.  Erskine  sat  on  a 
sofa  with  his  head  drooping,  and  his  palms  joined  and 
hanging  downward  between  his  knees.     Agatha  stood 

860 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

at  the  window,  looking  at  the  late  summer  afterglow. 
Jane  yawned,  and  presently  broke  the  silence. 

"  You  look  exactly  as  you  used  at  school,  Agatha. 
I  could  almost  fancy  us  back  again  in  Number 
Six." 

Agatha  shook  her  head. 

"  Do  I  ever  look  like  that — ^like  myself,  as  I  used 
to  be?" 

"  Never,"  said  Agatha  emphatically,  turning  and 
surveying  the  figure  of  which  Miss  Carpenter  had 
been  the  unripe  antecedent. 

"  But  why?  "  said  Jane  querulously.  "  I  don't  see 
why  T  shouldn't.     I  am  not  so  changed." 

"  You  have  become  an  exceedingly  fine  woman, 
Jane,"  said  Agatha  gravely,  and  then,  without  know- 
ing why,  turned  her  attentive  gaze  upon  Sir  Charles, 
who  bore  it  uneasily,  and  left  the  room.  A  minute 
later  he  returned  with  two  buff  envelopes  in  his 
hand. 

*^A  telegram  for  you.  Miss  Wylie,  and  one  for 
Chester."  Erskine  started  up,  white  with  vague  fears. 
Agatha's  color  went,  and  came  again  with  increased 
richness  as  she  read: 

"  I  have  arrived  safe  and  ridiculously  happy.  Read 
a  thousand  things  between  the  lines.  I  will  write  to- 
morrow.    Good  night." 

"  You  may  read  it,"  said  Agatha,  handing  it  to 
Jane. 

361 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

"  Very  pretty/'  said  Jane.  *^  A  shilling's  worth  of 
attention — exactly  twenty  words!  He  may  well  call 
himself  an  economist." 

Suddenly  a  crowing  laugh  from  Erskine  caused 
them  to  turn  and  stare  at  him.  "  What  nonsense!  " 
he  said,  blushing.  "  What  a  fellow  he  is!  I  don't 
attach  the  slightest  importance  to  this." 

Agatha  took  a  corner  of  his  telegram  and  pulled  it 
gently. 

"  ISio,  no/'  he  said,  holding  it  tightly.  "  It  is  too 
absurd.     I  don't  think  I  ought " 

Agatha  gave  a  decisive  pull,  and  read  the  message 
aloud.     It  was  from  Trefusis,  thus: 

"I  forgive  your  thoughts  since  Brandon's  return. 
Write  her  to-night,  and  follow  your  letter  to  receive 
an  affirmative  answer  in  person.  I  promised  that  you 
might  rely  on  me.     She  loves  you." 

"  I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing  in  my  life/'  said 
Jane.     "Never!" 

"  He  is  certainly  a  most  unaccountable  man,"  said 
Sir  Charles. 

"I  am  glad,  for  my  own  sake,  that  he  is  not  so 
black  as  he  is  painted/'  said  Agatha.  "  You  may  be- 
lieve every  word  of  it,  Mr.  Erskine.  Be  sure  to  do  as 
he  tells  you.    He  is  quite  certain  to  be  right." 

"  Pooh!  "  said  Erskine,  crumpling  the  telegram  and 
thrusting  it  into  his  pocket  as  if  it  were  not  worth  a 
second  thought.     Presently  he  slipped  away,  and  did 

352 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

not  reappear.     When  they  were  about  to  retire,  Sir 

Charles  asked  a  servant  where  he  was. 
"  In  the  library,  Sir  Charles;  writing." 
They  looked  significantly  at  one  another  and  went 

to  bed  without  disturbing  him. 


853 


CHAPTEE   XVIII 

When  Gertrude  found  herself  beside  Trefusis  in 
the  Pullman,  she  wondered  how  she  came  to  be  travel- 
ling with  him  against  her  resolution,  if  not  against  her 
will.  In  the  presence  of  two  women  scrutinizing  her 
as  if  they  suspected  her  of  being  there  with  no  good 
purpose,  a  male  passenger  admiring  her  a  little  fur- 
ther off,  her  maid  reading  Trefusis's  newspapers  just 
out  of  earshot,  an  uninterested  country  gentleman 
looking  glumly  out  of  window,  a  city  man  preoccupied 
with  the  "  Economist,"  and  a  polite  lady  who  re- 
frained from  staring  but  not  from  observing,  she  felt 
that  she  must  not  make  a  scene;  yet  she  knew  he  had 
not  come  there  to  hold  an  ordinary  conversation.  Her 
doubt  did  not  last  long.  He  began  promptly,  and 
went  to  the  point  at  once. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  this  engagement  of  mine?  " 

This  was  more  than  she  could  bear  calmly.  "  What 
is  it  to  me?  "  she  said  indignantly.  "  I  have  nothing 
to  do  with  it." 

"  Nothing!  You  are  a  cold  friend  to  me  then.  I 
thought  you  one  of  the  surest  I  possessed." 

She  moved  as  if  about  to  look  at  him,  but  checked 
herself,  closed  her  lips,  and  fixed  her  eyes  on  the  va- 
854 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

cant  seat  before  her.  The  reproach  he  deserved  wa« 
beyond  her  power  of  expression. 

"I  cling  to  that  conviction  still,  in  spite  of  Miss 
Lindsay's  indifference  to  my  affairs.  But  I  confess  I 
hardly  know  how  to  bring  you  into  sympathy  with  me 
in  this  matter.  In  the  first  place,  you  have  never  been 
married,  I  have.  In  the  next,  you  are  much  younger 
than  I,  in  more  respects  than  that  of  years.  Very 
likely  half  your  ideas  on  the  subject  are  derived  from 
fictions  in  which  happy  results  are  tacked  on  to  con- 
ditions very  ill-calculated  to  produce  them — ^which  in 
real  life  hardly  ever  do  produce  them.  If  our  friend- 
ship were  a  chapter  in  a  novel,  what  would  be  the  up- 
shot of  it?  Why,  I  should  marry  you,  or  you  break 
your  heart  at  my  treachery." 

Gertrude  moved  her  eyes  as  if  she  had  some  inten- 
tion of  taking  to  flight. 

"But  our  relations  being  those  of  real  life — ^far 
sweeter,  after  all — I  never  dreamed  of  marrying  you, 
having  gained  and  enjoyed  your  friendship  without 
that  eye  to  business  which  our  nineteenth  century 
keeps  open  even  whilst  it  sleeps.  You,  being  equally 
disinterested  in  your  regard  for  me,  do  not  think  of 
breaking  your  heart,  but  you  are,  I  suppose,  a  little 
hurt  at  my  apparently  meditating  and  resolving  on 
such  a  serious  step  as  marriage  with  Agatha  without 
confiding  my  intention  to  you.  And  you  punish  me 
by  telling  me  that  you  have  nothing  to  do  with  it — 
that  it  is  nothing  to  you.  But  I  never  meditated  the 
step,  and  so  had  nothing  to  conceal  from  you.     It  was 

355 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

conceived  and  executed  in  less  than  a  minute.  Al- 
though my  first  marriage  was  a  silly  love  match  and 
a  failure,  I  have  always  admitted  to  myself  that  I 
should  marry  again.  A  bachelor  is  a  man  who  shirks 
responsibilities  and  duties;  I  seek  them,  and  consider 
it  my  duty,  with  my  monstrous  superfluity  of  means, 
not  to  let  the  individualists  outbreed  me.  Still,  I  was 
in  no  hurry,  having  other  things  to  occupy  me,  and 
being  fond .  of  my  bachelor  freedom,  and  doubtful 
sometimes  whether  I  had  any  right  to  bring  more 
idlers  into  the  world  for  the  workers  to  feed.  Then 
came  the  usual  difficulty  about  the  lady.  I  did  not 
want  a  helpmeet;  I  can  help  myself.  Nor  did  I  expect 
to  be  loved  devotedly,  for  the  race  has  not  yet  evolved 
a  man  lovable  on  thorough  acquaintance;  even  my 
self-love  is  neither  thorough  nor  constant.  I  wanted 
a  genial  partner  for  domestic  business,  and  Agatha 
struck  me  quite  suddenly  as  being  the  nearest  ap- 
proach to  what  I  desired  that  I  was  likely  to  find  in 
the  marriage  market,  where  it  is  extremely  hard  to 
suit  oneself,  and  where  the  likeliest  bargains  are  apt 
to  be  snapped  up  by  others  if  one  hesitates  too  long  in 
the  hope  of  finding  something  better.  I  admire 
Agatha's  courage  and  capability,  and  believe  I  shall 
be  able  to  make  her  like  me,  and  that  the  attachment 
so  begun  may  turn  into  as  close  a  union  as  is  either 
healthy  or  necessary  between  two  separate  individuals. 
I  may  mistake  her  character,  for  I  do  not  know  her 
as  I  know  you,  and  have  scarcely  enough  faith  in  her 
as  yet  to  tell  her  such  things  as  I  have  told  you.     Still, 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

there  is  a  consoling  dash  of  romance  in  the  trans- 
action. Agatha  has  charm.  Do  you  not  think 
so?" 

Gertrude's  emotion  was  gone.  She  replied  with 
cool  scorn,  "  Very  romantic  indeed.  She  is  very  for- 
tunate." 

Trefusis  half  laughed,  half  sighed  with  relief  to  find 
her  so  self-possessed.  "  It  sounds  like — and  indeed 
is — the  selfish  calculation  of  a  disilluded  widower. 
You  would  not  value  such  an  offer,  or  envy  the  re- 
cipient of  it?  " 

"  No,"  said  Gertrude  with  quiet  contempt. 

"  Yet  there  is  some  calculation  behind  every  such 
offer.  We  marry  to  satisfy  our  needs,  and  the  more 
reasonable  our  needs  are,  the  more  likely  are  we  to 
get  them  satisfied.  I  see  you  are  disgusted  with  me; 
I  feared  as  much.  You  are  the  sort  of  woman  to  ad- 
mit no  excuse  for  my  marriage  except  love — pure  emo- 
tional love,  blindfolding  reason." 

"  I  really  do  not  concern  myself " 

"  Do  not  say  so,  Gertrude.  I  watch  every  step  you 
take  with  anxiety;  and  I  do  not  believe  you  are  indif- 
ferent to  the  worthiness  of  my  conduct.  Believe  me, 
love  is  an  overrated  passion;  it  would  be  irremediably 
discredited  but  that  young  people,  and  the  romancers 
who  live  upon  their  follies,  have  a  perpetual  interest 
in  rehabilitating  it.  No  relation  involving  divided 
duties  and  continual  intercourse  between  two  people 
can  subsist  permanently  on  love  alone.  Yet  love  is 
not  to  be  despised  when  it  comes  from  a  fine  nature. 

857 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

There  is  a  man  who  loves  you  exactly  as  you  think  I 
ought  to  love  Agatha — and  as  I  don't  love  her." 

Gertrude's  emotion  stirred  again,  and  her  color  rose. 
"  You  have  no  right  to  say  these  things  now,"  she  said. 

"Why  may  I  not  plead  the  cause  of  another?  I 
speak  of  Erskine."  Her  color  vanished,  and  he  con- 
tinued, "I  want  you  to  marry  him.  When  you  are 
married  you  will  understand  me  better,  and  our 
friendship,  shaken  just  now,  will  be  deepened;  for  I 
dare  assure  you,  now  that  you  can  no  longer  misunder- 
stand me,  that  no  living  woman  is  dearer  to  me  than 
you.  So  much  for  the  inevitable  selfish  reason.  Ers- 
kine is  a  poor  man,  and  in  his  comfortable  poverty — 
save  the  mark — lies  your  salvation  from  the  baseness 
of  marrying  for  wealth  and  position;  a  baseness  of 
which  women  of  your  class  stand  in  constant  peril. 
They  court  it;  you  must  shun  it.  The  man  is  honor- 
able and  loves  you;  he  is  young,  healthy,  and  suitable. 
What  more  do  you  think  the  world  has  to  offer  you?  " 

"  Much  more,  I  hope.     Very  much  more." 

"  I  fear  that  the  names  I  give  things  are  not  roman- 
tic enough.  He  is  a  poet.  Perhaps  he  would  be  a 
hero  if  it  were  possible  for  a  man  to  be  a  hero  in  this 
nineteenth  century,  which  will  be  infamous  in  history 
as  a  time  when  the  greatest  advances  in  the  power  of 
man  over  nature  only  served  to  sharpen  his  greed  and 
make  famine  its  avowed  minister.  Erskine  is  at  least 
neither  a  gambler  nor  a  slave-driver  at  first  hand;  if 
he  lives  upon  plundered  labor  he  can  no  more  help 
himself  than  I.  Do  not  say  that  you  hope  for  much 
3S8 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

more;  but  tell  me,  if  you  can,  what  more  you  have 
any  chance  of  getting?  Mind,  I  do  not  ask  what  more 
you  desire;  we  all  desire  unutterable  things.  I  ask 
you  what  more  you  can  obtain!  " 

"  I  have  not  found  Mr.  Erskine  such  a  wonderful 
person  as  you  seem  to  think  him." 

"  He  is  only  a  man.  Do  you  know  anybody  more 
wonderful?" 

"  Besides,  my  family  might  not  approve." 

"  They  most  certainly  will  not.  If  you  wish  to 
please  them,  you  must  sell  yourself  to  some  rich  vam- 
pire of  the  factories  or  great  landlord.  If  you  give 
yourself  away  to  a  poor  poet  who  loves  you,  their  dis- 
gust will  be  unbounded.  If  a  woman  wishes  to  honor 
her  father  and  mother  to  their  own  satisfaction  nowa- 
days she  must  dishonor  herself." 

"  I  do  not  understand  why  you  should  be  so  anxious 
for  me  to  marry  someone  else?  " 

"Someone  else?"  said  Trefusis,  puzzled. 

"  I  do  not  mean  someone  else,"  said  Gertrude  has- 
tily, reddening.     "  Why  should  I  marry  at  all?  " 

"  Why  do  any  of  us  marry?  Why  do  I  marry?  It 
is  a  function  craving  fulfilment.  If  you  do  not  marry 
betimes  from  choice,  you  will  be  driven  to  do  so  later 
on  by  the  importunity  of  your  suitors  and  of  your 
family,  and  by  weariness  of  the  suspense  that  precedes 
a  definite  settlement  of  oneself.  Marry  generously. 
Do  not  throw  yourself  away  or  sell  yourself;  give  your- 
self away.  Erskine  has  as  much  at  stake  as  you;  and 
yet  he  offers  himself  fearlessly." 
850 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

Gertrude  raised  her  head  proudly. 

^'  It  is  true/'  continued  Trefusis,  observing  the  ges- 
ture with  some  anger,  "  that  he  thinks  more  highly 
of  you  than  you  deserve;  but  you,  on  the  other  hand, 
think  too  lowly  of  him.  When  you  marry  him  you 
must  save  him  from  a  cruel  disenchantment  by  rais- 
ing yourself  to  the  level  he  fancies  you  have  attained. 
This  will  cost  you  an  effort,  and  the  effort  will  do  you 
good,  whether  it  fail  or  succeed.  As  for  him,  he  will 
find  his  just  level  in  your  estimation  if  your  thoughts 
reach  high  enough  to  comprehend  him  at  that  level." 

Gertrude  moved  impatiently. 

"  What!  "  he  said  quickly.  "  Are  my  long-winded 
sacrifices  to  the  god  of  reason  distasteful?  I  believe 
I  am  involuntarily  making  them  so  because  I  am  jeal- 
ous of  the  fellow  after  all.  Nevertheless  I  am  serious; 
I  want  you  to  get  married;  though  I  shall  always  have 
a  secret  grudge  against  the  man  who  marries  you. 
Agatha  will  suspect  me  of  treason  if  you  don't.  Ers- 
kine  will  be  a  disappointed  man  if  you  don't.  You 
will  be  moody,  wretched,  and — and  unmarried  if  you 
don't." 

Gertrude's  cheeks  flushed  at  the  word  jealous,  and 
again  at  his  mention  of  Agatha.  "  And  if  I  do,"  she 
said  bitterly,  "  what  then?  " 

"  If  you  do,  Agatha's  mind  will  be  at  ease,  Erskine 
will  be  happy,  and  you!  You  will  have  sacrificed 
yourself,  and  will  have  the  happiness  which  follows 
that  when  it  is  worthily  done." 

"  It  is  you  who  have  sacrificed  me,"  she  said,  cast- 
860 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

ing  away  her  reticence,  and  looking  at  him  for  the 
first  time  during  the  conversation. 

"  I  know  it,"  he  said,  leaning  towards  her  and  half 
whispering  the  words.  "  Is  not  renunciation  the  be- 
ginning and  the  end  of  wisdom?  I  have  sacrificed 
you  rather  than  profane  our  friendship  by  asking  you 
to  share  my  whole  life  with  me.  You  are  unfit  for 
that,  and  I  have  committed  myself  to  another  union, 
and  am  begging  you  to  follow  my  example,  lest  we 
should  tempt  one  another  to  a  step  which  would  soon 
prove  to  you  how  truly  I  tell  you  that  you  are  unfit. 
I  have  never  allowed  you  to  roam  through  all  the 
chambers  of  my  consciousness,  but  I  keep  a  sanctuary 
there  for  you  alone,  and  will  keep  it  inviolate  for  you 
always.  Not  even  Agatha  shall  have  the  key>  she 
must  be  content  with  the  other  rooms — the  drawing- 
room,  the  working-room,  the  dining-room,  and  so 
forth.  They  would  not  suit  you;  you  would  not  like 
the  furniture  or  the  guests;  after  a  time  you  would 
not  like  the  master.  Will  you  be  content  with  the 
sanctuary?  " 

Gertrude  bit  her  lip;  tears  came  into  her  eyes.  She 
looked  imploringly  at  him.  Had  they  been  alone,  she 
would  have  thrown  herself  into  his  arms  and  entreated 
him  to  disregard  everything  except  their  strong  cleav- 
ing to  one  another. 

"And  will  you  keep  a  corner  of  your  heart  for 
me?'' 

She  slowly  gave  him  a  painful  look  of  acquiescence. 

"Will  you  be  brave,  and  sacrifice  yourself  to  the 
861 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

poor  man  who  loves  you?  He  will  save  you  from 
useless  solitude,  or  from  a  worldly  marriage — I  can- 
not bear  to  think  of  either  as  your  fate," 

"  I  do  not  care  for  Mr.  Erskine,"  she  said,  hardly 
able  to  control  her  voice;  "  but  I  will  marry  him  if 
you  wish  it." 

"  I  do  wish  it  earnestly,  Gertrude." 

"  Then,  you  have  my  promise,"  she  said,  again  with 
some  bitterness. 

"But  you  will  not  forget  me?  Erskine  will  have 
all  but  that — a  tender  recollection — ^nothing." 

"  Can  I  do  more  than  I  have  just  promised?  " 

"  Perhaps  so;  but  I  am  too  selfish  to  be  able  to  con- 
ceive anything  more  generous.  Our  renunciation  will 
bind  us  to  one  another  as  our  union  could  never  have 
done." 

They  exchanged  a  long  look.  Then  he  took  out 
his  watch,  and  began  to  speak  of  the  length  of 
their  journey,  now  nearly  at  an  end.  When  they  ar- 
rived in  London  the  first  person  they  recognized  on 
the  platform  was  Mr.  Jansenius. 

"Ah!  you  got  my  telegram,  I  see,"  said  Trefusis. 
"  Many  thanks  for  coming.  Wait  for  me  whilst  I  put 
this  lady  into  a  cab." 

When  the  cab  was  engaged,  and  Gertrude,  with  her 
maid,  stowed  within,  he  whispered  to  her  hurriedly: 

"  In  spite  of  all,  I  have  a  leaden  pain  here  "  (indi- 
cating his  heart).  "  You  have  been  brave,  and  I  have 
been  wise.  Do  not  speak  to  me,  but  remember  that 
we  are  friends  always  and  deeply." 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

He  touched  her  hand,  and  turned  to  the  cabman, 
directing  him  whither  to  drive.  Gertrude  shrank 
back  into  a  corner  of  the  vehicle  as  it  departed.  Then 
Trefusis,  expanding  his  chest  like  a  man  just  released 
from  some  cramping  drudgery,  rejoined  Mr.  Jan- 
senius. 

"  There  goes  a  true  woman,"  he  said.  "  I  have 
been  persuading  her  to  take  the  very  best  step  open  to 
her.  I  began  by  talking  sense,  like  a  man  of  honor, 
and  kept  at  it  for  half  an  hour,  but  she  would  not 
listen  to  me.  Then  I  talked  romantic  nonsense  of  the 
cheapest  sort  for  five  minutes,  and  she  consented  with 
tears  in  her  eyes.  Let  us  take  this  hansom.  Hi! 
Belsize  Avenue.  Yes;  you  sometimes  have  to  answer 
a  woman  according  to  her  womanishness,  just  as  you 
have  to  answer  a  fool  according  to  his  folly.  Have 
you  ever  made  up  your  mind,  Jansenius,  whether 
I  am  an  unusually  honest  man,  or  one  of  the 
worst  products  of  the  social  organization  I  spend 
all  my  energies  in  assailing — an  infernal  scoundrel, 
in  short  ?  " 

"  Now  pray  do  not  be  absurd,"  said  Mr.  Jansenius. 
"I  wonder  at  a  man  of  your  ability  behaving  and 
speaking  as  you  sometimes  do." 

"  I  hope  a  little  insincerity,  when  meant  to  act  as 
chloroform — to  save  a  woman  from  feeling  a  wound 
to  her  vanity — is  excusable.  By-the-bye,  I  must 
send  a  couple  of  telegrams  from  the  first  post-office 
we  pass.  Well,  sir,  I  am  going  to  marry  Agatha,  as  I 
sent  you  word.     There  was  only  one  other  single  man 

363 


An  Unsocial  Socialist 

and  one  other  virgin  down  at  Brandon  Beeches,  and 
they  are  as  good  as  engaged.     And  so 

^^  ^  Jack  shall  have  Jill, 
JSTonght  shall  go  ill, 
The  man  shall  have  his  mare  again; 
And  all  shall  be  well/ '' 


964 


APPENDIX 

Letter  to  the  Author  from  Mr.  Sidney  Trefusis. 

My  Bear  Sir:  I  find  that  my  friends  are  not  quite 
satisfied  with  the  account  you  have  given  of  them  in 
your  clever  novel  entitled  "  An  Unsocial  Socialist." 
You  already  understand  that  I  consider  it  my  duty 
to  communicate  my  whole  history,  without  reserve,  to 
whoever  may  desire  to  be  guided  or  warned  by  my 
experience,  and  that  I  have  no  sympathy  whatever 
with  the  spirit  in  which  one  of  the  ladies  concerned 
recently  told  you  that  her  affairs  were  no  business  of 
yours  or  of  the  people  who  read  your  books.  When 
you  asked  my  permission  some  years  ago  to  make  use 
of  my  story,  I  at  once  said  that  you  would  be  perfectly 
justified  in  giving  it  the  fullest  publicity  whether  I 
consented  or  not,  provided  only  that  you  were  careful 
not  to  falsify  it  for  the  sake  of  artistic  effect.  Now, 
whilst  cheerfully  admitting  that  you  have  done  your 
best  to  fulfil  that  condition,  I  cannot  help  feeling 
that,  in  presenting  the  facts  in  the  guise  of  fiction, 
you  have,  in  spite  of  yourself,  shown  them  in  a  false 
light.  Actions  described  in  novels  are  judged  by  a 
romantic  system  of  morals  as  fictitious  as  the  actions 
themselves.  The  traditional  parts  of  this  system  are, 
3§5 


Appendix 

as  Cervantes  tried  to  show,  for  the  chief  part,  bar- 
barous and  obsolete;  the  modern  additions  are  largely 
due  to  the  novel  readers  and  writers  of  our  own  cen- 
tury— ^most  of  them  half-educated  women,  rebelliously 
slavish,  superstitious,  sentimental,  full  of  the  intense 
egotism  fostered  by  their  struggle  for  personal  liberty, 
and,  outside  their  families,  with  absolutely  no  social 
sentiment  except  love.  Meanwhile,  man,  having 
fought  and  won  his  fight  for  this  personal  liberty,  only 
to  find  himself  a  more  abject  slave  than  before,  is  turn- 
ing with  loathing  from  his  egotist's  dream  of  inde- 
pendence to  the  collective  interests  of  society,  with  the 
welfare  of  which  he  now  perceives  his  own  happiness 
to  be  inextricably  bound  up.  But  man  in  this  phase 
(would  that  all  had  reached  it!)  has  not  yet  leisure  to 
write  or  read  novels.  In  noveldom  woman  still  sets 
the  moral  standard,  and  to  her  the  males,  who  are  in 
full  revolt  against  the  acceptance  of  the  infatuation 
of  a  pair  of  lovers  as  the  highest  manifestation  of  the 
social  instinct,  and  against  the  restriction  of  the  affec- 
tions within  the  narrow  circle  of  blood  relationship, 
and  of  the  political  sympathies  within  frontiers,  are 
to  her  what  she  calls  heartless  brutes.  That  is  exactly 
what  I  have  been  called  by  readers  of  your  novel;  and 
that,  indeed,  is  exactly  what  I  am,  judged  by  the  ficti- 
tious and  feminine  standard  of  morality.  Hence 
some  critics  have  been  able  plausibly  to  pretend  to 
take  the  book  as  a  satire  on  Socialism.  It  may,  for 
what  I  know,  have  been  so  intended  by  you.  Whether 
or  no,  I  am  sorry  you  made  a  novel  of  my  story,  for 

m 


Appendix 

the  effect  has  been  almost  as  if  you  had  misrepresented 
me  from  beginning  to  end. 

At  the  same  time,  I  acknowledge  that  you  have 
stated  the  facts,  on  the  whole,  with  scrupulous  fair- 
ness. You  have,  indeed,  flattered  me  very  strongly 
by  representing  me  as  constantly  thinking  of  and  for 
other  people,  whereas  the  rest  think  of  themselves 
alone,  but  on  the  other  hand  you  have  contradictorily 
called  me  "  unsocial,''  which  is  certainly  the  last  ad- 
jective I  should  have  expected  to  find  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  my  name.  I  deny,  it  is  true,  that  what  is 
now  called  "  society  "  is  society  in  any  real  sense,  and 
my  best  wish  for  it  is  that  it  may  dissolve  too  rapidly 
to  make  it  worth  the  while  of  those  who  are  "  not  in 
society "  to  facilitate  its  dissolution  by  violently 
pounding  it  into  small  pieces.  But  no  reader  of  "  An 
Unsocial  Socialist ''  needs  to  be  told  how,  by  the  exer- 
cise of  a  certain  considerate  tact  (which  on  the  out- 
side, perhaps,  seems  the  opposite  of  tact),  I  have  con- 
trived to  maintain  genial  terms  with  men  and  women 
of  all  classes,  even  those  whose  opinions  and  political 
conduct  seemed  to  me  most  dangerous. 

However,  I  do  not  here  propose  to  go  fully  into  my 
own  position,  lest  I  should  seem  tedious,  and  be  ac- 
cused, not  for  the  first  time,  of  a  propensity  to  lecture 
— a  reproach  which  comes  naturally  enough  from 
persons  whose  conceptions  are  never  too  wide  to  be 
expressed  within  the  limits  of  a  sixpenny  telegram. 
I  shall  confine  myself  to  correcting  a  few  misappre- 
hensions which  have,  I  am  told,  arisen  among  readers 

867 


Appendix 

who  from  inveterate  habit  cannot  bring  the  persons 
and  events  of  a  novel  into  any  relation  with  the  actual 
conditions  of  life. 

In  the  first  place,  then,  I  desire  to  say  that  Mrs.  Ers- 
kine  is  not  dead  of  a  broken  heart.  Erskine  and  I  and 
our  wives  are  very  much  in  and  out  at  one  another's 
houses;  and  I  am  therefore  in  a  position  to  declare  that 
Mrs.  Erskine,  having  escaped  by  her  marriage  from 
the  vile  caste  in  which  she  was  relatively  poor  and 
artificially  unhappy  and  ill-conditioned,  is  now,  as 
the  pretty  wife  of  an  art-critic,  relatively  rich,  as  well 
as  pleasant,  active,  and  in  sound  health.  Her  chief 
trouble,  as  far  as  I  can  judge,  is  the  impossibility  of 
shaking  off  her  distinguished  relatives,  who  furtively 
quit  their  abject  splendor  to  drop  in  upon  her  for 
dinner  and  a  little  genuine  human  society  much 
oftener  than  is  convenient  to  poor  Erskine.  She  has 
taken  a  patronizing  fancy  to  her  father,  the  Admiral, 
who  accepts  her  condescension  gratefully  as  age  brings 
more  and  more  home  to  him  the  futility  of  his  social 
position.  She  has  also,  as  might  have  been  expected, 
become  an  extreme  advocate  of  socialism;  and  indeed, 
being  in  a  great  hurry  for  the  new  order  of  things, 
looks  on  me  as  a  lukewarm  disciple  because  I  do  not 
propose  to  interfere  with  the  slowly  grinding  mill  of 
Evolution,  and  efl'ect  the  change  by  one  tremendous 
stroke  from  the  united  and  awakened  people  (for  such 
she — vainly,  alas! — believes  the  proletariat  already  to 
be). 

As  to  my  own  marriage,  some  have  asked  sarcasti- 
368 


Appendix 

cally  whether  I  ran  away  again  or  not;  others, 
whether  it  has  been  a  success.  These  are  foolish 
questions.  My  marriage  has  turned  out  much  as  I 
expected  it  would.  I  find  that  my  wife's  views  on  the 
subject  vary  with  the  circumstances  under  which  they 
are  expressed. 

I  have  now  to  make  one  or  two  comments  on  the 
impressions  conveyed  by  the  style  of  your  narrative. 
Sufficient  prominence  has  not,  in  my  opinion,  been 
given  to  the  extraordinary  destiny  of  my  father,  the 
true  hero  of  a  nineteenth  century  romance.  I,  who 
have  seen  society  reluctantly  accepting  works  of  gen- 
ius for  nothing  from  men  of  extraordinary  gifts,  and 
at  the  same  time  helplessly  paying  my  father  millions, 
and  submitting  to  monstrous  mortgages  of  its  future 
production,  for  a  few  directions  as  to  the  most  busi- 
ness-like way  of  manufacturing  and  selling  cotton, 
cannot  but  wonder,  as  I  prepare  my  income-tax  re- 
turns, whether  society  was  mad  to  sacrifice  thus  to 
him  and  to  me.  He  was  the  man  with  power  to  buy, 
to  build,  to  choose,  to  endow,  to  sit  on  committees  and 
adjudicate  upon  designs,  to  make  his  own  terms  for 
placing  anything  on  a  sound  business  footing.  He 
was  hated,  envied,  sneered  at  for  his  low  origin,  re- 
proached for  his  ignorance,  yet  nothing  would  pay 
unless  he  liked  or  pretended  to  like  it.  I  look  round 
at  our  buildings,  our  statues,  our  pictures,  our  news- 
papers, our  domestic  interiors,  oiir  books,  our  vehicles, 
our  morals,  our  manners,  our  statutes,  and  our  relig- 
ion, and  I  see  his  hand  everywhere,  for  they  were  all 
24  369 


Appendix 

made  or  modified  to  please  him.  Those  which  did  not 
please  him  failed  commercially:  he  would  not  buy 
them,  or  sell  them,  or  countenance  them;  and  except 
through  him,  as  "  master  of  the  industrial  situation/' 
nothing  could  be  bought,  or  sold,  or  countenanced. 
The  landlord  could  do  nothing  with  his  acres  except 
let  them  to  him;  the  capitalist's  hoard  rotted  and 
dwindled  until  it  was  lent  to  him;  the  worker's  mus- 
cles and  brain  were  impotent  until  sold  to  him.  What 
king's  son  would  not  exchange  with  me — the  son  of 
the  Great  Employer — the  Merchant  Prince?  ISTo 
wonder  they  proposed  to  imprison  me  for  treason 
when,  by  applying  my  inherited  business  talent,  I  put 
forward  a  plan  for  securing  his  full  services  to  society 
for  a  few  hundred  a  year.  But  pending  the  adoption 
of  my  plan,  do  not  describe  him  contemptuously  as 
a  vulgar  tradesman.  Industrial  kingship,  the  only 
real  kingship  of  our  century,  was  his  by  divine  right 
of  his  turn  for  business;  and  I,  his  son,  bid  you  respect 
the  crown  whose  revenues  I  inherit.  If  you  don't,  my 
friend,  your  book  won't  pay. 

I  hear,  with  some  surprise,  that  the  kindness  of  my 
conduct  to  Henrietta  (my  first  wife,  you  recollect)  has 
been  called  in  question;  why,  I  do  not  exactly  know. 
Undoubtedly  I  should  not  have  married  her,  but  it  is 
waste  of  time  to  criticise  the  judgment  of  a  young 
man  in  love.  Since  I  do  not  approve  of  the  usual  plan 
of  neglecting  and  avoiding  a  spouse  without  ceasing 
to  keep  up  appearances,  I  cannot  for  the  life  of  me  see 
what  else  I  could  have  done  than  vanish  when  I  found 
870 


Appendix 

out  my  mistake.  It  is  but  a  short-sighted  policy  to 
wait  for  the  mending  of  matters  that  are  bound  to  get 
worse.  The  notion  that  her  death  was  my  fault  is 
sheer  unreason  on  the  face  of  it;  and  I  need  no  excul- 
pation on  that  score;  but  I  must  disclaim  the  credit 
of  having  borne  her  death  like  a  philosopher.  I  ought 
to  have  done  so,  but  the  truth  is  that  I  was  greatly  af- 
fected at  the  moment,  and  the  proof  of  it  is  that  I  and 
Jansenius  (the  only  other  person  who  cared)  behaved 
in  a  most  unbecoming  fashion,  as  men  invariably  do 
when  they  are  really  upset.  Perfect  propriety  at  a 
death  is  seldom  achieved  except  by  the  undertaker, 
who  has  the  advantage  of  being  free  from  emotion. 

Your  rigmarole  (if  you  will  excuse  the  word)  about 
the  tombstone  gives  quite  a  wrong  idea  of  my  attitude 
on  that  occasion.  I  stayed  away  from  the  funeral  for 
reasons  which  are,  I  should  think,  sufficiently  obvious 
and  natural,  but  which  you  somehow  seem  to  have 
missed.  Granted  that  my  fancy  for  Hetty  was  only 
a  cloud  of  illusions,  still  I  could  not,  within  a  few 
days  of  her  sudden  death,  go  in  cold  blood  to  take  part 
in  a  grotesque  and  heathenish  mummery  over  her 
coffin.  I  should  have  broken  out  and  strangled  some- 
body. But  on  every  other  point  I — weakly  enough — 
sacrificed  my  own  feelings  to  those  of  Jansenius.  I 
let  him  have  his  funeral,  though  I  object  to  funerals 
and  to  the  practice  of  sepulture.  I  consented  to  a 
monument,  although  there  is,  to  me,  no  more  bitterly 
ridiculous  outcome  of  human  vanity  than  the  blocks 
raised  to  tell  posterity  that  John  Smith,  or  Jane  Jack- 
371 


Appendix 

son,  late  of  this  parish,  was  born,  lived,  and  died  worth 
enough  money  to  pay  a  mason  to  distinguish  their 
bones  from  those  of  the  unrecorded  millions.  To 
gratify  Jansenius  I  waived  this  objection,  and  only 
interfered  to  save  him  from  being  fleeced  and  fooled 
by  an  unnecessary  AVest  End  middleman,  who,  as 
likely  as  not,  would  have  eventually  employed  the  very 
man  to  whom  I  gave  the  job.  Even  the  epitaph  was 
not  mine.    If  I  had  had  my  way  I  should  have  written: 

''HeNKIETTA  JaN-SENIUS  was  BORiq^  ON  SUCH  A 
DATE,  MARRIED  A  MAN  NAMED  TrEFUSIS,  AND  DIED 
ON  SUCH  ANOTHER  DATE  ;  AND  NOW  WHAT  DOES  IT 
MATTER   WHETHER   SHE   DID   OR   NOT  ? "      The  whole 

notion  conveyed  in  the  book  that  I  rode  rough-shod 
over  everybody  in  the  affair,  and  only  consulted  my 
own  feelings,  is  the  very  reverse  of  the  truth. 

As  to  the  tomfoolery  down  at  Brandon's,  which 
ended  in  Erskine  and  myself  marrying  the  young  lady 
visitors  there,  I  can  only  congratulate  you  on  the  de- 
termination with  which  you  have  striven  to  make 
something  like  a  romance  out  of  such  very  thin  ma- 
terial. I  cannot  say  that  I  remember  it  all  exactly  as 
you  have  described  it;  my  wife  declares  flatly  there  is 
not  a  word  of  truth  in  it  as  far  as  she  is  concerned, 
and  Mrs.  Erskine  steadily  refuses  to  read  the  book. 

On  one  point  I  must  acknowledge  that  you  have 
proved  yourself  a  master  of  the  art  of  fiction.  What 
Hetty  and  I  said  to  one  another  that  day  when  she 
came  upon  me  in  the  shrubbery  at  Alton  College  was 
known  only  to  us  two.  She  never  told  it  to  anyone, 
372 


Appendix 

and  I  soon  forgot  it.  All  due  honor,  therefore,  to  the 
ingenuity  with  which  you  have  filled  the  hiatus,  and 
shown  the  state  of  affairs  between  us  by  a  discourse  on 
"  surplus  value/'  cribbed  from  an  imperfect  report  of 
one  of  my  public  lectures,  and  from  the  pages  of  Karl 
Marx!  If  you  were  an  economist  I  should  condemn 
you  for  confusing  economic  with  ethical  considera- 
tions, and  for  your  uncertainty  as  to  the  function 
which  my  father  got  his  start  by  performing.  But 
as  you  are  only  a  novelist,  I  compliment  you  heartily 
on  your  clever  little  pasticcio,  adding,  however,  that 
as  an  account  of  what  actually  passed  between  myself 
and  Hetty,  it  is  the  wildest  romance  ever  penned. 
Wickens's  boy  was  far  nearer  the  mark. 

In  conclusion,  allow  me  to  express  my  regret  that 
you  can  find  no  better  employment  for  your  talent 
than  the  writing  of  novels.  The  first  literary  result 
of  the  foundation  of  our  industrial  system  upon  the 
profits  of  piracy  and  slave-trading  was  Shakspere. 
It  is  our  misfortune  that  the  sordid  misery  and  hope- 
less horror  of  his  view  of  man's  destiny  is  still  so  ap- 
propriate to  English  society  that  we  even  to-day  re- 
gard him  as  not  for  an  age,  but  for  all  time.  But 
the  poetry  of  despair  will  not  outlive  despair  itself. 
Your  nineteenth  century  novelists  are  only  the  tail 
of  Shakspere.  Don't  tie  yourself  to  it:  it  is  fast 
wriggling  into  oblivion. 

I  am,  dear  sir,  yours  truly, 

SIDNEY    TEEFUSIS, 

373 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below, 
or  on  the  date  to  -which  renewed.  Renewals  only: 

Tel.  No.  642-3405 
Renewals  may  be  made  4  days  prior  to  date  due. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 

fiEC'DLO    MAR22  71-4PM3  35 


iMAY    fei982 


BETP    APR     61962 


\m    51985 


RECCiRC  MAR    6  1985 


.1(11  291988 

mm  apr3o«W 


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(P2?omOH?'6^i'32  ""^"^"tS?'^'"' 


GENERAL  LIBRARY -U.C.  BERKELEY 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  UBRARY 


